Читать книгу The Last Gamble - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 13

Chapter Six

His word? Georgina stared into Luke’s intense gaze. She would have promised him anything in that moment, but not this. Not London. She couldn’t expound or supply the reason. Still, he must believe her a despicable wretch to refuse. He sought to find his son and she declined to assist. She despised herself. ‘It’s complicated.’

She dropped her eyes, unwilling to create the everlasting memory of his angered disapproval. But instead of railing at her or pleading his case further, he closed the distance between them and stroked his fingertip across her cheek.

She stared at him intently, noticing too closely the dark smudges beneath his eyes and strained creases that bracketed his strong jaw. It seemed that, just below the appearance he showed to the world, a tense tremor of emotion existed, and she wasn’t sure of what nature to label it. Still, in the glorious grey depths of his irises there was an acute tenderness, whether he meant to expose the quality or not.

‘What keeps you here, Georgina?’ His voice was a husky rasp that slid across the back of her neck like a velvet caress. ‘Surely even a prim governess, one as beautiful and desirable as you, thirsts for a bit of adventure now and again.’

The rich timbre of his question caused gooseflesh to dot her skin and it all at once became too much, the masculine scent of his nearness, the heat of his skin and undeniable plea in the depth of his eyes. He leaned a hair’s-breadth closer, his exhale sweeping across her temple and, for the tiniest breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her.

How she wanted that kiss. To exchange one memory for another more pleasurable one.

‘What is it that holds you back from taking a little time to help find a child?’

Tears stung her lids. His whispered query, frayed by emotion, touched her soul and yet she clung to fear. What if she returned to London and everything went wrong? She hated herself for making a selfish choice. The air between them vibrated with tension and anticipation. He waited on her answer and she quaked, anguished by the words on her tongue.

‘No more questions.’ As she whispered her response, she saw him swallow, her eyes following the movement of his Adam’s apple. They stood together, the coiled heat of desire pulling them closer while the answer to one singular question forced them apart. But she couldn’t acquiesce and destroy her family’s future in the process, simply because she yearned to experience his tempting kiss.

‘Just one more.’ He angled his chin, lowered his mouth and time slowed as if she watched from the soffit, a voyeur of her own forbidden desires, his lips upon hers, his plea, her promise, his luscious, beautiful mouth fitted over hers…

‘I can’t go with you.’ The words slipped out, barely able to fill the space between them before he pulled away and separated them with a black curse.

‘Not can’t. Won’t. You won’t.’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, spoiling his neat appearance with perfunctory efficiency, his tone now sharp as a razor’s edge. ‘There’s a world of difference between the two.’ His words sliced the air with undisguised anger and his eyes flashed dangerously.

‘You were going to kiss me to convince me.’ Her voice trembled though there was no mistaking the incredulous shock in her accusation. ‘That is the work of a scoundrel, a scapegrace.’ She was hot now too, but it had nothing to do with her anticipation of his kiss or the heated temperature in the kitchen, absolutely nothing to do with his devastatingly handsome disarray. No, insult fuelled her temper instead. Indignation reared up to trample disappointment and the foolish incrimination she’d practically disregarded her principles. ‘Did you think me a lonely spinster, desperate for attention and willing to compromise my decision with the first touch of your mouth on mine?’ Her face warmed with the picture drawn by the words but she continued, her emotions dismantled, a runaway carriage wheel, wobbly, off course, and out of control. ‘How dare you? I demand you go.’

‘Don’t bother throwing me out.’ He strode towards the front door. ‘I’m already leaving.’

‘Good. Leave.’ She sounded a petulant child, or worse, a peevish shrew. ‘And don’t come back.’

She doubted he heard her last declaration, the slam of the door punctuating their argument effectively. Locked in another room, Biscuit barked his approval.

‘Where is he?’ Jonathan Wraxall, Viscount Dursley, stormed across the hell floor to the corner where Cole Hewitt and Maxwell Sinclair, proprietors of the exclusive gambling establishment, loitered in conversation and assessment of the night’s activities. ‘Where’s my bastard brother? I need to see him now.’

‘Not here, Dursley.’ Cole hardly spared him a glance before he flicked his dismissive attention from the mottled-faced aristocrat to the piquet table.

‘Something wrong?’ Max offered the man a bemused smile. ‘Out of funds? I can arrange for an extension of credit.’

‘You know what I’m talking about. I’m here to see Reese.’ Dursley, a prig of a corpulent peer who’d allowed himself to go soft through the middle, huffed a breath, impatient in the assumption his bluster would gain him the result desired.

‘Can’t help you then.’ Cole took a step forward, bored with the conversation and anxious to be done with Dursley the same way one swatted a pestering gnat. ‘I’ll let Luke know you stopped by once he returns.’

‘He stole something of mine.’

A bit of spittle accompanied the angered statement and Cole slanted left to avoid the spray.

‘Then that settles the score, doesn’t it?’ Cole continued his journey across the floor, greeting the regulars in disregard of the viscount, who padded after him in full-blown fury, anxious to cause a scene that might better his advantage.

Cole ignored him. The card tables were busy. Good. Liquor was flowing. Excellent.

‘What does that mean? What has Reese told you?’ Dursley raised his voice and garnered further attention. ‘I’m talking to you, Hewitt. Look here.’

Cole had heard enough. He whirled on the viscount, collecting the man’s lapels in both fists and gingerly moving him backwards towards the door. Dursley’s feet failed to find purchase on the carpet. ‘No, you look. You’re not welcome here. We strive to keep the worst element outside these walls. You’re not fit for The Underworld.’ Releasing the man’s coat, he shoved Dursley at the exit and, with a sharp hitch of his chin, signalled two men waiting for the anxious opportunity to flex muscle and exert their strength.

Cole brushed his palms together, the symbolic motion figurative and literal. He would have liked nothing more than to wash his hands of Dursley, but until Luke returned his son home safely, he’d tolerate the man as best he could.

Life in Coventry proved lovely. An early-morning shower had laced Georgina’s cottage with an iridescent sheen and kissed the flowers along the slated walkway with a glimmer of dewdrop. There was no reason to leave the idyllic setting for the horrid reality in London. Coventry was very fine indeed.

Even now, as she walked towards the town centre, past sprawling fields of clover and alfalfa-blanketed countryside, the crisp, blue sky above and Biscuit at her heels, she couldn’t imagine a more peaceful respite. Homes, farms and fields spanned in pockets as far as the eye could see. If she forced her eyes to the horizon and stuffed unfinished emotion and contradiction farther down into her soul, she could live some resemblance of a pleasant life here.

With her reticule looped on her arm and the letter to her parents clutched in her hand, she strode towards town intent on posting her message and forgetting her abominable behaviour from the night before. With a Herculean effort to absorb the tranquil landscape, Luke almost escaped her notice, but there he was, keeping pace with her on the opposite side of the roadway almost as if he’d watched her house in wait of her departure and now stalked from fifty yards. Which, most likely, was exactly what he’d done.

He needed to find his son. She would have taken the same course of action.

She glanced in his direction a second time and could only have unwittingly encouraged his interaction because the detestable man crossed the roadway before she could object.

‘Off to send a letter?’ He didn’t bother with the good morning that would have composed a civil, obligatory greeting.

She noticed a similar missive in his hand. Could they both intend to visit the post this morning? It seemed an odd coincidence.

‘Leave me alone.’ A strict catalogue of indoctrinated manners forced her to gentle the request. ‘Please.’

‘Now why would I do that?’ He fell in stride as if she’d invited him to stroll.

‘I shall scream if you insist on badgering me this morning.’ The threat hardly sounded propitious.

‘No, you won’t.’ Sarcasm, mockery, or some equally rude emotion danced in his eyes. ‘You don’t wish to be noticed any more than I do.’

She scoffed, unable to argue with his logic. ‘Are you writing to Viscount Dursley?’ There was no need to mince words. Biscuit already objected to Luke’s company. Best to carry on in a pleasant fashion in hope the pug would cease his complaints.

‘Are you?’ His steely grey eyes, the same ones which had heated her to the core last evening, glinted with cold regard in the slanted sunlight.

‘Of course not.’ Did he think her in collusion with his half-brother, the same man who’d abducted Nate? Botheration, that insult trumped any offence which came before. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

Her remark may have touched a nerve. His expression softened a notch.

‘You’re right, it was.’ He swallowed audibly, the taste of contrite remorse apparently a new flavour on his tongue. ‘Accept my apology.’

‘For your rude insinuation?’ She wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

‘For a number of things. Thank you for a delicious dinner and kind conversation.’ He paused. ‘It was wrong of me to try to kiss you…’

Pity you have regret when nothing has ever felt so right.

‘…And pressure you to come to London. You should know the two were unrelated, isolated actions.’

She purposely viewed him with an expression that questioned whether or not he was stupid? Biscuit growled as if on cue.

‘Why doesn’t your dog…?’ He shot a suspicious glance downwards.

‘Like you?’ She readily supplied the words.

‘I suppose. He’s already had the last word and I’ve the puncture wounds to prove it.’

She quirked the smallest smile. ‘Biscuit is normally a cheerful pup and has never shown poor behaviour before.’ She eyed the dog where he wandered a few paces before them. ‘I can only surmise he reacts to my caution. He is protective and loyal above all else.’

Loyal? Infinitely so. The pudgy pug possessed the tenacity of a lion. Luke had told himself to surveil the cottage from afar and merely observe what the good governess was up to this morning, but for some reason he could not yet identify, he’d moved across the street and fallen into stride as if a glutton for further punishment. And too, he’d noticed she’d left her hair unbound, the glorious sheen of mahogany tresses well past her waist. He’d clenched his fists with the desire to thread his fingers through it, measure its weight, hold the silky strands against his mouth for a kiss. Would her hair smell like apricots this morning?

Damn, if the governess didn’t cause him to feel things, inconvenient emotions when he most needed to be clearheaded. He had one purpose for pursuing Miss Smith and he didn’t need to muddle the issue with sexual impulse.

And while he’d convinced himself the paper in her hand was likely a shopping list for ingredients to another scrumptious meal, the illogical suggestion it could be a warning sent to Dursley would not abate. Therefore, he rationalized a conversation was in order.

She did not appear to appreciate his company this morning and he couldn’t blame her. Last night hadn’t proceeded as planned. Her words this morning might be tart, but whenever his gaze settled on her pink, cupid’s-bow mouth, which was fairly often, he regretted leaving last night without a taste. Damn, if he didn’t detect the lovely fragrance of her fancy soap or notice the soft blush of colour tinting her cheeks as she spurned his attention.

Clubs, spades, diamonds, hearts.

He needed to pull his thoughts together. He’d striven to feel nothing for so long, but now, with the anticipation of recovering Nate and the misplaced interest he found in Miss Smith, his composure was at odds.

‘I’m for the post.’ He waved the paper in his hand to illustrate his explanation, not at all like a white flag of surrender.

‘Yes, we’ve discussed that.’

Oh, she was in full governess form this morning, speaking to him like he was a child and piercing him with an intense blue gaze that evoked the kind of feelings that reminded he was anything but.

They’d reached the centre of town and he followed her lead across the main thoroughfare and beyond to the postmaster where they conducted their business in silence. And though he strove to hear the soft-spoken conversation she shared at the window, he failed, posting his letter quickly after so he wouldn’t lose her in the morning bustle.

He managed to join her at the corner adjacent to the fruit and vegetable market where he’d noticed her just two days earlier. Peculiar, how it seemed he’d somehow known her longer than that. Two days seemed more two weeks where Georgina was concerned, and not due to tedium or boredom. Quite the opposite, actually. He found the more he scratched at the surface of the proper young governess, the more he wished to peer in further and investigate.

He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted before he could begin.

‘No, I haven’t changed my mind, so you needn’t enlist your practised argument.’ She flicked him a flash of crystalline eyes and then returned her attention to the bins of ripe fruit.

The saucy minx.

‘I intended no such thing.’ Even to his own ears, the objection sounded weak. He followed her, two strides behind, as she moved away from the produce stand and advanced to the corner.

While they waited to cross, a milk cart stalled directly in front of them, the merchant aimed at the cow-keeper shop across the way once the avenue cleared. Biscuit yipped a complaint, though the pug quieted soon after, all at once entranced by the rivulet of cream that dripped from the back of the cart to form a puddle on the cobbles below. The dog skirted underneath and Georgina tsked her annoyance, waving with insistence at the pug in hope he would return to her side. Luke watched with amusement, cataloguing the memory of the provocative and disapproving noises coming from the governess’s mouth. Biscuit promptly ignored her request.

Luke could amuse himself all day with such nonsense, but a razor-sharp crack of a leather whip pulled their attention to a large dray blocking the intersection where the animal caused a fuss among the travelling animals and shoppers. The rangy mule attached to the brewer’s wagon refused to budge. The driver cursed a long string of words that provoked Luke to cover Georgina’s ears; and then, too, he’d have the opportunity to feel her hair, but he didn’t dare.

At the same moment, on the opposite corner of the square, a sleek gig entered the roadway. The team of four black horses galloped into the fray, forcing the pedestrians to pay heed and the traffic to capitulate, though the mule continued in deference to his master’s rebuke. All the while, in front of Luke and Georgina, the milk cart rolled forward and Biscuit trailed after the dripping cream, his tongue lolling in pleasure, his tail wagging in euphoric approval.

Everything from that point occurred with lightning speed. The oncoming team of horses thundered forward and the milk-cart driver, anxious to reach the cow keeper, darted with his conveyance towards the centre of the square, avoiding the belligerent mule and aligning with the large dray in protection. Unfortunately, Biscuit proved neither as agile nor as clever. The pug stood frozen in the roadway as the approaching team stormed forward. The last thought Luke processed was the high-pitched yelp of the dog combined with Georgina’s frantic shriek.

In a heroic act he would later use to question his sanity, Luke lunged into the thoroughfare beyond the milk cart and braying jackass to scoop Biscuit from beneath the oncoming hooves of the team, tucking the dog into his arms as he moved aside. His back hit the cobbles with enough brunt to force the air from his lungs and eject the pug from his hold, but despite the animal struggled for freedom, Luke clung to Biscuit’s body and rolled out of harm’s way. All he could think was that he’d saved the damned dog and hopefully curried enough favour with Georgina so she’d assist in locating Nate, except it was the part where his temple struck the curb and knocked him unconscious he hadn’t planned upon. He might have laughed at his foolishness if everything hadn’t suddenly gone black.