Her Wanton Wager (22 page)

Gavin's blood turned cold. He'd seen that particular emblem before. "Not a bear. A lion."

The mark of Robbie Lyon, to be exact.

TWENTY

Looking at Lord Petersby's flawless countenance in the moonlight, Miss Priscilla Farnham heard herself say the words she never thought she would.

"It's not you, it's me ..."

—
from
The Perils of Priscilla
, an inspired manuscript by P. R. Fines

Beneath the blazing brilliance of hundreds of candles, the quadrille seemed to go on forever. Preoccupied, Percy missed a step and aimed an apologetic smile at her partner. She couldn't stop thinking about Gavin. After giving him the dagger she'd found, she'd pressed him for more information.
Someone wants me dead
. He'd said it in the off-handed manner one might use to request the passing of a salt cellar
.
Briefly, he'd told her about the competing gaming houses in Covent Garden and how any one of them could be behind the attacks.

Then he'd chucked her under the chin.
Don't worry, buttercup. I can take care of myself.

She didn't doubt it. Yet if he was in danger, she wanted to help him. After all, she had assisted in warding off the villains at Vauxhall, and she had found the dagger in the bookshop, hadn't she? Apparently, the clue pointed to one of the club owners, a man named Robbie Lyon. Gavin had said he'd be looking into the matter.

If only I could see him tomorrow night as planned.

But she'd had to postpone her weekly meeting with Gavin. As luck would have it, Lisbett had returned, and upon learning of Tottie's
laissez-faire
chaperonage (no doubt from Violet), the housekeeper was keeping an eagle eye on Percy. For the last few days, Percy had made every effort to be on her best behavior so as not to rouse suspicion. She would have to prepare a sterling excuse to be out of the house next Friday night.

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. "Alright 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.