Her Wanton Wager (6 page)

Power was everything; he'd never be without it again.

He followed the corridor all the way to his private wing at the back of the building. Sunlight hit him as he entered his suite; the series of spacious chambers had large windows overlooking a vibrant gated garden. His own personal oasis. Yawning, he headed to the bedchamber. He waved off his valet, and not bothering to draw the curtains, stripped off his clothes and climbed naked into the postered bed.

Despite his fatigue, the moment his head hit the pillow, his mind leapt awake. The cursed habit of too many years spent in the rookery, where vigilance had been the key to survival. Where between one eye blink and the next, a man could get himself gutted if he let his guard down. Gavin lay there, surrounded by the smell of fresh linens and sunshine, staring up at the embroidered bed hangings. And instead of sleep came the unbidden memories of his past.

He'd been a boy not yet ten when his mother deserted him. Alone in the world, he'd faced the chilling prospect of the workhouse when a sweep named Grimes had come along and offered him an apprenticeship. Relieved at the prospect of learning a trade, of joining a coterie of boys his own age, Gavin had gone along.

What a bloody fool I was.

He'd soon learned that his new master cleaned more than chimneys—Grimes had used his sweeps to rob some of the finest homes in the City. The bastard had a predilection for violence ... and also for young boys. The knowledge had come too late; Grimes had kept his apprentices caged like slaves. The first time Gavin had been summoned to the master's chamber, he had feared the worst.

He'd not been the only boy sent for that night. Nicholas Morgan, one of the older boys, had been there too; Grimes' depravity had known no bounds. Helpless fear had twisted Gavin's empty belly as he'd crossed the creaky threshold toward the master, whose eyes had glowed a sinister orange in the firelight. But then matters had taken a different turn. A knife had flashed in Morgan's hand and landed in Grimes' chest.

The bastard had deserved the blade in the heart; Gavin wished he'd put it there himself. Morgan's sin had not been killing Grimes, but what he'd done afterward. Gavin could still feel the sharp steel, wet with blood, pressed against his own throat.

One word o' this to anyone, an' I'll gut you like a pig, you understand?

Dazed, he could only stare into Morgan's hard eyes.

Answer me, you filthy git!
The blade bit into his throat, and he felt a sticky trickle—his blood or Grimes', he didn't know.
Your silence or I'll end your miserable life right now. Don't think I won't do it.

A whimper sprang from his throat. He heard his own voice, words tattered by sobs.
Don't leave me here. I'm scared. Take me with you, please …

Shame simmered as Gavin recalled how he'd begged Morgan to take him out of that place. Instead of showing mercy, Morgan had knocked him senseless. When he'd come to, flames had consumed the room. A lamp lay shattered by the curtains. Morgan had wanted to burn all the evidence, had left him to die … only he hadn't. Gavin had suffered a worse fate. He'd escaped the fire only to be caught and found guilty of arson. No one had listened to his cries of innocence; no one had cared that he was a child, alone and afraid. The only silver lining had been the ruling of insufficient evidence for murder, else he'd have swung from the gallows for certain.

Instead, they'd tossed him into the prison hulks along with the most hardened and depraved of criminals. Ten years he'd spent in that rotting hell for another man's sins. Had it not been for Stewart, Gavin might not have survived. His scar burned at the memory—he tamped down the dark swell of emotion. Stewart had protected him and taught him the skills to protect himself. The practice of ruthless violence had kept him alive. He'd endured perdition, knowing that one day he would exact his pound of flesh.

Morgan had caused Gavin's suffering; Morgan would pay.

With his company ... and his family.

Despite her innocence and fresh beauty, Percy Fines was a creature of strong passions. Gavin had no doubt that she would accept his wager—out of loyalty to her brother, yes, but also out of curiosity. Desire. He hadn't mistaken the flicker in her eyes at the word
adventure
. Nor the way her bosom had risen and fallen when he'd come near, those pillowy lips of hers parting with each breath. Though she might not recognize the welcoming signs of her own body, he did.

He exhaled, his blood heating at the welcome diversion. Without realizing it, he'd begun to stroke his cock. The shaft stiffened in his fist as he closed his eyes and imagined taking Percy here, in this very bed. Pinning her wrists above her head, he'd strip away the layers until she could hide from him no more. No disguises, not even a shred of clothing between them.

Her tits would be medium-sized and full, a perfect fit for his palms. If her lips were any indication, the nipples would be pert and dusky pink. He could picture Percy's blue eyes widening as he fondled her, tweaking the buds between finger and thumb. Her mixture of naiveté and wantonness inflamed him. He would taste one saucy nipple, suckling one peak then the other, until she began to squirm and buck against his hold.

Disobedient chit. She would need to be taken firmly in hand, and by God, he was the man for the job. Nothing stirred his blood like control, and the notion of harnessing Percy's wild yet innocent spirit, of training her to his pleasure, aroused his darkest desires. He knew that once she surrendered, she would do so completely. 'Twas not in her nature to hold anything back. The tempestuous little vixen would give him everything he wanted.

The notion made his rod pulse in his fist. He imagined turning her over his knee. Tracing the elegant dip of her spine and palming the contours of her soft, quivering arse.

You've been a naughty girl
, he said.

I haven't
. She looked back at him, her hair a glorious tumble.
I only did what I had to.

Impertinent chit. Even in his fantasy, she gave him lip.

You'll have to be punished for playing your tricks on me
, he said.

His first slap made her gasp. Not out of pain—he hadn't spanked her hard—but indignation. Before she could speak, he delivered another swat to her bottom. His cock throbbed to see her flesh bear his mark, to hear her gasps melt into breathy sighs. She began to wriggle against his lap, telling him without words what she wanted. He parted her trembling thighs, and his breath caught at the sight of her quim. Soft and fluffy blond. Perfectly untouched.

He ran his middle finger along the seam of Percy's pristine pussy, and she sighed with pleasure. Virginity held no special appeal for him (he preferred bed partners who knew what they were doing), yet the thought of being the first man—the only man—to diddle Percy's dewy slit sent heat rushing up his shaft. Wetness oozed from the bulging crown, slicking his palm. He frigged himself harder, his breath driving in and out in harsh rushes.

Please, oh please … take me now, Gavin …

Rolling her onto her back, he spread her white thighs, exposing her pink crease with his thumbs. He buried his tongue deep. He could hear her cries as he licked her. He savored the sweetness of her desire, the intoxicating wildness of her response as she arched her hungering cunny to his mouth, whimpering his name. The pressure mounted in his bollocks. He replaced his lips with his cock, running the head along her drenched sex.

Beg me to take you, sweet. Ask for my cock. Ask to be fucked for the first time.

Her eyes heavy-lidded and bright, she whispered,
Please put your cock inside me, Gavin.

With a wild groan, he thrust inside. She was tight as a glove, lush and wet, the perfect hole for his prick. He took her slowly at first, then harder and deeper as she pleaded for more. His lungs burning, he slung her sleek legs over his shoulders and gave it to her. His hips slammed again and again.
Take it, take what only I can give you.
His muscles tensed as she screamed, her pussy milking him as she spent, dragging him with her ... The climax ripped through him. His shout echoed off the walls as hot seed shot between his fingers.

He fell back against the pillows, panting, confounded by the power of his release.
What is it about that bloody chit?
Before he could ponder further, fatigue began to spread outward in languorous waves. His eyes and limbs grew heavy. Sleep beckoned, and too spent to resist, he finally followed.

FIVE

"It's not my fault, Mama," Miss Priscilla Farnham protested. "I don't look for trouble. It finds
me
."

—
from
The Perils of Priscilla
, a stalled manuscript by P. R. Fines

 The dank air of the catacombs filled her nostrils as she struggled against the chains. The villain standing in the shadows gave a wicked, cackling laugh.

"'Tis no use. You cannot escape me," he said.

"Let me go!" She strove to free her wrists from where they were shackled above her head. The stony wall abraded her back through the thin linen—goodness gracious, why was she clad only in her unmentionables? "And give me back my clothes, you cad!"

"You won't need those anymore. Not for what I intend, my dear." In the light of the single torch, his eyes reflected a sinister gleam. She tried to make out his face, yet it remained shrouded by the dark. All she could see of him was his hulking, powerful form.

"You'd better release me before my beloved arrives." She glared at him, the effect ruined by the errant blond strand that fell in her eye. Blowing at the irritating piece of hair, she said, "He is a prince. And he will lop off your head and skewer it to the parapet if you harm me."

"Bloodthirsty wench, aren't you? I like that."

His dark voice made her insides quiver in an odd manner. "You won't like it when he runs a sword through you," she retorted.

The villain laughed. Suddenly, he reached up and doused the only light. Pure darkness enveloped the cavern. Her cry for help echoed off the rocky walls.

"You and I both know the prince isn't what you need. You're no princess to sit idly eating bonbons all day."

"As a matter of fact, I love bonbons—"

She broke off in a gasp as the villain's lips skimmed the curve of her ear. Shocks danced along the delicate shell, and before she could regain her senses, he nipped the tender lobe.

"You're a wicked girl, meant for wicked things," he murmured.

"I am
not
—"

His mouth cut off her arguments. She strained against her confinement, and yet she could not get away from the relentless kiss. Disoriented, she tried to focus on the prince, her rescue ... yet sensations unfurled within her. Sinful ...
exciting
. Panting, she tried to shut out the feelings, the exquisite chafing of her skin against her chemise. The tips of her breasts turned taut and throbbing. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

With her last ounce of willpower, she tore her lips free. "Let me go," she whispered.

"But my sweet," the deep voice said, "there is nothing holding you here."

She yanked against her bondage. To her shock, her hands fell free. No chains at all ...

"
Nothing but your own desire
," he rasped.

His eyes glowed a subterranean gold, and his scar was a flash of scarlet—   

Percy woke on a gasp. Heart thumping, she blinked at the sight of the familiar yellow striped walls, the cluttered rosewood desk, the canopied bed. Her bedchamber. As she sat up against the pillows of the window seat, a book fell from her lap and thudded to the carpet.
The Castle of Otranto.
She must have fallen asleep reading. Her skin tingled all over. Her cheeks burned with sudden panic.

Dear God, did I have a wicked dream ... about Gavin Hunt?

She was honest enough to admit that naughty dreams were not exactly uncommon for her. In the past year, certain impulses had been plaguing her with increasing frequency and intensity. The more she tried to ignore the sensations, the worse things got. A few times, in the middle of the night, she'd awakened burning with such a feverish need that she'd discovered an unspeakable ... solution.

Shame and confusion tightening her chest, Percy went to the washstand to splash her hot cheeks. As she reached for a towel, her gaze snagged on the portrait above her dresser. Papa had arranged for the four of them to be painted when she'd been a mere babe-in-arms. Looking at her family's content, beaming faces—including her own cherubic one—she experienced a fierce yearning to somehow go back. To that simpler time when they'd all been so happy.

Before Papa had gotten wrapped up with the company. Before Mama had found fault with everything that Percy did. Before Paul had decided to ruin himself and Percy had to consider taking on an indecent wager to help him—

Oh, no. Get the notion out of your head. You are
not
going to accept Hunt's bet.

She'd learned from her past mistakes. She was no longer a silly hoyden to be tempted by Hunt's machinations. Why, the reason she'd dreamed of him was likely because he'd unsettled her nerves. Any miss would be disquieted by a villain proposing to deflower her, wouldn't she? Besides, dreams didn't mean anything. Feeling a bit better, she resolved to forget about Hunt and the wager and to focus her attention on finding another way to rescue Paul.

A knock took her from her thoughts. "Good mornin', miss." Violet, the cheery-cheeked housemaid, poked her head in. "Thought I'd see if you was ready to get dressed for the picnic."

The picnic.
Stifling a groan, she said, "Yes, Violet. Thank you."

Percy was not looking forward to the gathering of her old classmates from Mrs. Southbridge's. Though she liked the other girls well enough, their attitude toward
her
had noticeably cooled since she started mixing in higher circles. She sighed. At least her bosom friend Charity Sparkler would be there. She'd already apprised Charity of Paul's situation—the two girls had shared secrets since their school days—and Charity had promised to put her sensible mind toward a solution.