Her Wanton Wager (18 page)

"Goddamn it. I
knew
it. She's bewitched you."

Gavin shook himself free of the image. His mentor was glaring at him. To his chagrin, his cheekbones heated as if he were a schoolboy caught in a prank. "That's nonsense."

"Don't bother lyin' to me. I know you better than the nose on my own face. That Fines girl 'as got you wrapped 'round 'er finger, an' you're too blind to see it."

"The opposite is true. I am using
her
for my purposes."

The other man snorted. "You tumbled 'er yet?"

"No. Not that it's any of your business." God help him if Stewart found out he'd let the opportunity slip at Vauxhall. In truth, he'd spent a great deal of the last two days trying to figure that out himself. Why had he stopped, when he could have had Percy—her and Morgan's company?

"What's she good for, if not that?" Stewart shook his grizzled head. "This is bad news, son. I ne'er known you to wait pretty on a female, which means one thing: she's got 'er claws in you."

"I've got a thicker hide than that."

"You think that, but you're wrong. Trust me, I know what it's like." The other man speared him with a dark, prophetic gaze. "'Twas the same with Marissa, and we both know 'ow that ended."

With Stewart in irons and tossed into the hulks for assault—aye, Gavin knew the story. But the situation with Percy was different … wasn't it?

"At the beginnin', 'twas like havin' a megrim an' a stomach ache at the same time. Couldn't focus, couldn't eat … all I could think about was the bleedin' wench," Stewart said grimly.

Not so different, then. Damnit.

"An' not jus' the beddin' part neither … though God knows I couldn't get enough o' that. No, I wanted other things with 'er, finer, softer things—" Stewart stopped abruptly, scowling. "Things men like us 'ave no business wantin', not if we value our 'ides. She poisoned me, Marissa did. Made me weak an' then called the dogs in for the kill."

The fact that he'd stopped short of his goal—had that been a sign of weakness? Gavin squelched the uncomfortable thought. She had saved his life, and he'd owed her was all. Eye for an eye. Now they were even, and he wouldn't falter again.

"I am in full control of the situation. This is about vengeance: Morgan left me to burn in Grimes' flash house and, because of him, I spent years rotting in the hulks. I have one purpose for Percy Fines," he said, his jaw hardening, "and it isn't soft or weak."

From the other side of the desk, Stewart gave him a man-to-man look. "Mean to give it to 'er 'ard, do you lad?"

"Precisely."

His mentor grunted. "See that you do. That's what wenches are for, after all. Maybe you should tup a few to 'elp you remember the fact."

A sudden scraping sound cut off Gavin's reply. He tensed, and his mentor took on the same vigilant posture. They both waited for the furtive noise again ... where had it come from?

Stewart motioned to the door.

"My thanks for the advice." Gavin said the words loudly as the other man moved with rapid stealth to the entrance. Gavin removed a pistol from his desk, readying it. Stewart yanked open the door ... and Evangeline stood framed in the doorway.

Her thin brows arched. "That's some welcome, lover."

Gavin cursed and tossed the weapon back into the drawer.

Stewart, however, gave Evangeline a considering look. Beneath his beard, his mouth settled into what might have passed for a smile. "Well, if it ain't a sight for sore eyes. Good day to you, Miss 'Arper."

Evangeline sauntered in. "And to you, Mr. Stewart." The randy gleam in her eyes and the low cut of her gown gave an inkling of her purpose. A bulging reticule swung from her hand.

Just bloody perfect.

"Was just sayin' to Hunt that 'e's been workin' too 'ard. A man needs a bit o' distraction now an' again." Stewart aimed a pointed look at Gavin. "'Elps 'im to keep 'is focus."

"Well, it just so 'appens I'm lookin' for a bit o' distraction myself," Evangeline said. With easy familiarity, she perched onto the arm of Gavin's chair, her generous rump pushing into his lap.

"I'll leave you two to your business, then." Whistling, Stewart shut the door behind.

"What's with 'im?" Evangeline jerked her chin at the door. "Usually 'e's grimmer than the reaper, but today 'e's practically dancin' a jig to see me."

"Never mind him." Gavin cleared his throat. "What can I do for you today?"

"Tisn't so much what you can do for me, love, as what I can do for you," she cooed at the same time that she wriggled fully onto his lap.

The contact with the feminine curves led to an immediate physical response. He'd been dog drawn since the first bloody meeting with Percy. Even frigging himself on a daily basis—fine,
several
times a day—didn't seem to help matters. He couldn't get her out of his head; as a result, he was hard. Constantly.

With deliberate slowness, Evangeline undid the strings to her purse. His throat flexed when he saw what she'd fished out and let dangle from her fingers. A silver chain, with a leather cuff swinging at each end.

"I've a new game for you today, lover." She shimmied against his turgid flesh. "And something tells me you're more than up for it."

When it came to carnality, he and Evangeline were cut from the same torrid cloth. For both of them, pleasure and power were sides of the same coin. His first sexual encounter flashed in his mind's eye. A grimy corner of the hulks, one of the whores brought in by the guards to keep the prisoners from rioting. He had been thirteen and, after three years aboard that stinking ship, had left boyhood far behind. Yet he'd quivered as the moll climbed atop his tense form, her eyes glinting slits in the dark. Her taunting voice returned to him.

First fuck, is it? You ain't much to look at. Let's see if you 'ave what it takes to be a man.

His hands had fisted, pulling his shackles tight as she'd explored him with a touch that was anything but gentle. In the darkness of that despicable place, with the sounds and smells of human degradation all around him, he'd had his first sexual release. Had discovered that chains against flesh could rouse desire as well as pain. It hadn't taken him long to learn that nothing, but nothing, matched the potency of dominating another. Of making an old slattern scream with unaffected bliss as he'd turned the tables and fucked her into submission whilst the other prisoners cheered him on.

Use or be used. Of the two, he knew which option he'd choose.

A hand palmed his groin, and he looked down to see Evangeline kneeling between his thighs. In her leering expression, he saw his past in its sordid entirety, and it made him feel … weary. For the first time, he wondered if a different sort of future was possible. Unbidden, the smell of lemons and soap tickled his imagination. A smile that warmed instead of humiliated. Summer-bright eyes promising a brand of passion that he had never experienced before: one that was pure and unconditional, meant only for him.

Was such a thing possible? Could one taste of sunshine dispel the pleasures of the dark?

"Mmm," Evangeline purred. "I think you're ready to play, lover."

He took hold of her hands. Removed them from his person.

"Not today," he said.

Bloody hell ... mayhap not ever again.

SEVENTEEN

Friday evening, Gavin paced the length of his suite as he awaited Percy's arrival. He'd given into Stewart's relentless nagging about not taking "unnecessary risks" and arranged for her to be brought here for their second meeting. It was for the better. In his own territory, he would not have to contend with outside distractions.

Tonight, he meant to seal the deal and seduce Percy. Days ago, he'd found himself ending things with Evangeline because a meaningless tup no longer appealed. He wanted something else, something more. Something he could only have with Percy. Anticipation simmered as he heard the sound of approaching voices.

Davey came in first. Free of bruises now and looking much like any other adolescent beanpole, the boy held a lumpy bag in hand. Percy followed behind, and though his pulse quickened at the sight of her, Gavin frowned. What was the bloody thing she was wearing on her head? It was a hideous shade of green and resembled a dead animal. A bird, maybe. It hid all of her gorgeous hair and for that reason alone deserved to be incinerated.

"Davey, would you mind putting my things ..."—scanning the room, Percy pointed to the chair—"over there, if you please?"

The boy almost tripped over himself in his eagerness to do as she bade. "Anyfin' else, miss?"

"No, thank you," she said. "But I'm so glad we had a chance to chat."

Chat?
What on earth had she and an orphan from the gutters to talk about? Besides, the boy was not what one would call a conversationalist. With Gavin, he spoke only when spoken to; when asked about what had happened at his last place of work, he became silent as a clam. Understanding the desire to shut out the past, Gavin had stopped prying about the boy's abuser.

Though perhaps what he ought have done was put Percy in the role of interrogator. From the looks of it, if she asked Davey to jump, the boy would somersault into the air. As Gavin had long suspected, the chit had a disconcerting effect on the males of the species—and apparently age offered no protection against her charm.

"This is for you, Davey. I hope to hear good news the next time I see you," she said brightly.

The boy's eyes grew as large as the coin she handed him. With a moonstruck expression, he stammered, "Th-thank you, miss. I'll not forget your advice." 

"That is all for now, Davey," Gavin said shortly. "Close the door behind you."

The boy left, taking Percy's smile with him. Tension filled the room as she took stock of the private chambers and assiduously avoided Gavin's gaze. He'd had the sitting room set up for seduction. Beeswax candles flickered in silver holders; crimson roses bloomed in crystal vases. A cloth-covered table sat ready for an intimate supper for two.

"What were you and Davey talking about?" he said.

"Oh, this and that." Percy wandered over to the table, looked it over. "Mostly I was giving him some pointers on love."

"On love?" Gavin scoffed. "He's a boy, for Christ's sake. He has better things to fill his head with than such nonsense."

"Be that as it may, he has quite the crush on the milkmaid." Percy's cheeks took on an apple-sweet curve. "Her name is Nan. She has red hair and freckles on her nose."

"He's wasting his time on rubbish," Gavin said. "He needs to build himself up, prove himself a man. Hard work and self-discipline—that's the ticket for the boy."

"Is that what you were doing at that tender age?" she asked innocently.

At thirteen, he'd been living in the hulks amongst criminals and vermin. He'd given and received beatings in equal measure. On a good day, he'd escaped the guards' violent whips and had a crust of stale bread in his growling belly. The bad days ... he didn't care to remember those.

All because of Morgan. Stay focused.

"Suffice it say," he said in grim tones, "I was planning for the future, not mooning over some wench. I'll have a word with Davey and set him straight."

Percy came nearer, her eyes searching his face. "Why is it that you have such compassion for children? According to Davey, you've given him food, shelter, the skills of a trade—and he's not the only one. It would seem that you're the benefactor of many an unfortunate orphan."

His cravat seemed to tighten. He didn't like the gentle expression in her gaze. He did not need her pity—anymore than the children did.

"I'm no soft touch, if that's what you're thinking," he said flatly. "Anyone who works for me earns their keep. If they don't, they get tossed out on their arses."

She continued to study him, head tipped to the side. "Tit for tat—that's your philosophy?"

"In my world, it's called justice. Nothing comes for free, and anyone who owes me will pay." Deliberately, he added, "I'd have thought you understood that by now."

Instead of looking put off, she only raised her brows. "I suppose I am not the only one with a reputation to protect. You have one, too, don't you, Mr. Hunt?"

He liked her astuteness even less than the sympathy. "May I take your, er, bonnet?" he said abruptly.

"It's a turban," she said. "It's supposed to stay on."

Not if he could bloody help it. But he'd pick his battles one at a time.

"Your cloak then," he said, reaching to her shoulders. As he removed the velvet, he had a moment to savor her tremor of awareness before a pungent odor assailed him. Holy hell. His eyes started to water, and his body shook with the sudden force of his sneeze.

"Bless you," she said sweetly.

His nostrils quivered in warning, and he took a step back.

"Oh dear, I hope it isn't my new scent," she said. "The perfumist blended it specially for me. 'Tis essence of lilac and lily-of-the-valley."

No wonder she smelled like a cross between a dowager and a hedge.

His eyes narrowed upon her gown, which furthered her similarity to a prickly old bush. It wasn't as if Percy tended to seductive clothing (more the pity), but tonight her gown eschewed her usual fresh, unaffected style for a look that was ... well, frankly, repugnant. The dress matched the sickly shade of the towel upon her head, and rows and rows of frilly things decorated the shapeless monstrosity which covered her from chin to toes.

He wanted to see her lithe, nubile form. He wanted to rip the frock off and fling it into the flames of the fireplace. Most of all, he wanted to know what the minx was up to—though he had a pretty good inkling.

"Took special pains for the evening, did you?" he said.

She smiled, looking pleased with herself. "I didn't want to be caught unprepared again. Vauxhall was a distraction. From here on in, I plan to approach our wager with the utmost prudence."

"A distraction. Is that what you're calling my kiss?"

Satisfaction rose in him as her smile wavered.

"The mayhem overexcited my nerves. A momentary lapse," she muttered. "It won't happen again."