The Last Gamble

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘I’d appreciate it. Lord Tucker depends on me.’ Her face revealed calm certainty while her consistent declaration that Tucker required her return was beginning to grate on him.

  ‘And now I do as well.’ He wanted to embrace her. Pick her up and twirl her in a circle of celebration or thread his fingers through the ribbons of her sable-soft hair. Dammit to hell, he wanted to capture her plush mouth in a kiss, taste and lick her creamy skin with the same dedicated enthusiasm Biscuit had shown the milk cart, but he couldn’t. No matter the joy that surged through his veins with her consent, he would do nothing to upset, anger or deter Georgina now she’d agreed to come to London. Too bad his imagination refused to release the images.

  Plans came together with alacrity. Securing a rented carriage and hiring a driver proved easy enough and, true to his word, he knocked on Georgina’s door the next morning. He planned to ride Snake Eyes behind the carriage, their passage interrupted only by necessity. He recalled an acceptable inn along the coaching route halfway to London. They could stay overnight while on the road and arrive in the city as promised.

  ‘Lovely morning.’ She locked the cottage behind her and stepped aside so he could manage her bags to the waiting coach. The driver hopped down from the boot and fastened her cases alongside Luke’s valise.

  ‘As are you.’ She indeed looked fashionable in a cobalt-blue travelling habit, the tailoring and fabric very fine, as well as the intricate embroidery on the collar and cuffs. One wouldn’t expect a governess to possess such a sophisticated ensemble, but he’d learned all too quickly this governess possessed discerning, expensive taste.

  ‘Will you ride the entire time?’ She posed the question before she climbed the steps and settled on the bench.

  ‘Today, mostly. Will you miss my riveting conversation?’ He winked. Why not? Anticipation and its comrade, hope, tempted him to believe he would soon hug his son again. If presenting Dursley with Georgina’s detailed testimony, which explained how the viscount paid her to watch Nate months earlier, didn’t coerce his half-brother to reveal Nate’s whereabouts, then a solid threat to embarrass him in front of the ton with a damning legal suit should prove the proverbial straw to snap the viscount’s back. Unlike the bastard code of life, pristine reputation meant everything to members of the ton and at last Luke had a concrete and credible threat to wager against his half-brother.

  Georgina smiled and the sun shone brighter, though to his dismay her gorgeous hair was returned to the bondage of a tight bun at the back of her head. ‘Miss your conversation? I shall.’

  ‘Very good. Unfortunately, the roads before Oxford are barely passible and necessitate a slower pace. If you haven’t decided to nap or changed your mind by then, I’ll ride Snake Eyes beside the window and we can share an exchange.’ She nodded in agreement and he left the door so the driver could collapse the steps, fasten the latch, and put an end to their lively banter.

  Good thing too. There would be no comfort in riding with an unrelenting erection, a recurring problem he’d developed whenever he conversed with Georgina. This timely separation would allow him the space required to scrub his brain.

  Last night he’d lain abed and forbade himself from thinking of Georgina. Not her brilliant blue eyes or fetching tendency to blush, nor how the delicate colour began in her cheekbones and travelled to her nape. Not her glorious hair, akin to unbound skeins of silk begging for his touch, nor her luscious bosom, pressed tight within her bodice absent of the confines of a corset. That particular revealing proposition kept him in a perpetual state of arousal.

  No, perhaps hours of hard riding, not that kind of hard, would enable him to manage a civil conversation without fantasizing dozens of scandalous visions whenever he focused on her mouth. And too, it would spare him the close confines of the carriage interior, undoubtedly drenched in apricot. He placed his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle with barely a wince.

  What was she thinking? How could she do this? Georgina dropped her head back against the padded bolster and squeezed her eyes to the point of painful. Truly, what choice did she have? Excluding the extenuating circumstances concerning Biscuit, she could no longer resist her desire to help. Locating Luke’s son was not an issue she could dismiss. Had she remained resolute and refused to travel to London, she’d never have forgiven herself, her heart torn by the desire to stay well hidden and the longing to assist.

  And too, there was Luke and the vulnerability she saw in his lovely grey eyes whenever he broached the subject of Nate’s disappearance. Eyes that expressed so many emotions, framed in long, inky lashes. Between those lashes and that devastating dimple, her heart didn’t stand a chance. To his credit, the man worried for his son and worked single-handedly to find him. Even the gothic novels she devoured didn’t contain a hero as noble… or handsome.

  Still, she would need to be careful. London’s exponential population could serve equal protection and threat. Naturally, she wouldn’t be attending social functions or walking through Mayfair. It could very well be her avoidance had flourished in her mind and become an excuse more than a reason not to return.

  She exhaled a slow, cleansing breath and tried to envision Luke’s joy at locating Nate. She suspected he believed he hid his emotions well, but when he spoke of his son the fierceness in his eyes revealed the painful truth of their separation. Nate was a darling lad, mannerly and clever. She’d always adored children, thus becoming a governess was an obvious inclination because of her fondness for them. How ecstatic Nate would be when Luke arrived. She smiled at the thought, though it quickly fell away. She wouldn’t be there to see their reunion. Still, she could easily imagine the depth of love and relief, not unlike the day she would embrace her family again. Perhaps she had more in common with Luke than she dared to believe.

  Exhausted from the interwoven complexities of her preoccupation, she closed her eyes with the intent to briefly clear her mind, but sleep must have claimed her. She awoke with a start, a hard knock on the window glass the cause. Drawing the black fabric to the side, she slid the square pane open, pleased to find Luke on horseback alongside the carriage.

  ‘As promised, I bring clever conversation.’ He nudged the large Arabian closer and she took in Luke’s fine form, wind-tousled hair, broad shoulders and tightly cased thighs as they controlled the huge beast with little effort. No dimple, though. That proved a rare appearance.

  ‘Of what shall we talk? I had fallen asleep. Your knock interrupted my dreams.’ She cleared her throat, still fighting for clarity and anxious to clear the vestiges of her nap.

  ‘And there is the veriest subject. Of what do beautiful governesses dream when they surrender to Hypnos and fall into heavenly slumber?’ His deep timbre was all charm and then he smiled to make matters worse.

  Botheration, she wasn’t prepared for intellect combined with that dimple. ‘A gaming-hell owner who knows Greek mythology? You’ve surprised and impressed me once again.’

  ‘I hardly know all the gods and goddesses. Only those depicted by sculpture throughout Vauxhall.’ His horse nickered and he adjusted the animal with a flex of muscle.

  ‘Really? I’ve never seen them there.’

  ‘A governess who has visited Vauxhall.’ Click. A governess with many layers, lock after lock. ‘The gods are strewn throughout the pleasure gardens. No respectable young lady knows of them. At least that’s what I’m told.’

  He chuckled and the rich sound resonated within the carriage, further within to invigorate her soul. Had he laughed before, wholeheartedly and genuine? She thought not. Somehow, he appeared truer, more alive, lighthearted, vivid, and of course the observation made sense. He believed she would enable him to find Nate. She sighed secretly, drawn into the shadows of the carriage, at the acknowledgement she brought him this happiness.

  ‘You remind me of one of them, you know.’ He leaned forward to peer into the interior and catch her curious attention.

  ‘Dare I guess Athena, goddess of wis
dom?’ She laughed too. ‘Seeing as how I’m a governess.’

  ‘No.’ He didn’t say more.

  ‘Then Artemis, goddess of nature. Coventry provides me the most provincial landscapes. Quite different than London’s congested populace, a city of low morals and high fashion.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He paused for a brief moment. ‘You seem to possess a great knowledge of the city.’

  ‘Governesses love to read. Didn’t you know?’ She offered him her most practised smile. ‘Now, back to the goddess in question. Do you consider Hestia?’

  ‘The goddess of virginity, not a favourite of mine and definitely not found in Vauxhall, although that is an interesting topic to pursue.’ One dark brow slashed upward.

  She could feel her cheeks warm. Anxious to direct the conversation elsewhere, she rattled off a few more suggestions. ‘Leto? Hebe? Nemesis?’

  ‘Wrong, wrong and wrong.’

  He smiled and that dimple reminded she was no goddess but mere mortal, and susceptible, vulnerable woman. One who was currently glad she sat, her knees weak.

  ‘I do wonder how you could omit the goddess in question, when it’s obvious you are her rival.’ His voice had fallen to a husky murmur and neither of them spoke. Snake Eyes whinnied with impatience and the moment stretched longer until at last Luke continued. ‘Aphrodite. Has no one suggested your likeness before?’

  ‘The goddess of love and beauty.’ She whispered, embarrassed to say the words loudly, the compliment too generous. ‘Thank you, although I worry for your eyesight now.’

  His eyesight was excellent. Nothing wrong with it at all. It was his temperament which gave him trouble at the moment. He’d counted the miles until he knocked on the coach window, the notion so unlike him, in wait of the right moment instead of his usual assertive command of the situation. He could only explain it away as restless energy, anxiety to reach London, although at the moment he quite preferred the company of the coquette in lieu of proper governess. Another fantasy added to a list becoming longer each day, every version of Georgina more delightful than the last.

  With the late-day sun filtering into the carriage interior, her hair caught an amber glow, her crystalline eyes a-twinkle with their continued conversation. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d spoken with a woman just for the sake of enjoyment. It had to be years, easily. Since Josephine died and left Nate as his sole responsibility, Luke had lived for pleasure, neither seeking anything more meaningful or offering a path to his heart. Emotion was complicated and, though he’d hired help, raising a child and working through the night at The Underworld left him exhausted. Then everything had gone to hell nine months ago.

  ‘Were you married for very long?’

  Her question came out of nowhere to snap him out of reflection and touch on a subject he rarely discussed. Still, the innate ability Georgina possessed to know his thoughts without his mention evoked his desire to answer.

  ‘We were young. Life was simple and neither of us knew anything about love. At least until Nate happened and then I learned what the word means in an honest instant, to give as much of oneself as possible for the sole reason to bring about someone else’s happiness. Nathaniel taught me that rather quickly.’ He paused and exhaled in a rush. ‘Josephine died too early. Illness took her. I’ll always hold her in kind regard, but she was Nate’s mother, not my wife. I am a bastard who beget a bastard as it may.’ He looked outward, unsure he wanted to see whatever expression she might wear. ‘It’s strange the way time changes things. I’ll always have Nate to remind me of Josephine’s smile, but try as I might I can’t see it now. Time heals as much as it hurts.’ He fell silent a long moment. A baseborn bastard was unwanted, a mistake, and he would never define Nathaniel by those terms despite society would be quick to label him such. ‘Nate deserves better.’

  He reminded himself as much as shared the observation, then collected the reins into a firm hold and nudged Snake Eyes with his heels, ready to pull away. He had no wish to prolong the solemn mood and so pushed on. ‘The inn is up ahead, another mile or so. I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll secure our accommodations.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She sounded hesitant and somewhat surprised. Had he said too much? Shared what he otherwise should have kept to himself? Did his past create a wall between them?

  ‘You’ll arrange for separate rooms.’ Her voice was both statement and question, and he found a bemused smile, relieved her concerns were more fundamental.

  ‘Of course, unless you’d prefer otherwise.’ He couldn’t help it, the prim governess too easy a target for his tease. She didn’t reply, though the crimson colour on her cheeks was answer enough.

  Riding alongside the carriage had proven the best decision. With no effort at all he could imagine sitting across from her, the confined air light with the scent of apricot soap, their knees close to touching, conversation all too delightful. Now he’d be hard-pressed to squash yet another version of a popular fantasy, Georgina in his arms, her body against his, all soft skin and erotic curves. He ached to taste her lush breasts and sink into her wet heat. He adjusted his position in the saddle. Since when did randy thoughts set him into such discomfort. Worse, he had no explanation for why he’d taken a personal interest in the prim governess beyond her usefulness in securing Nate’s whereabouts. Romantic relationships, thick with emotion and obligation, proved an exhausting proposition and he had more important issues to settle.

  With a firm shake of his head, he pulled his attention from the coach window and stared at the roadway ahead. Riding with a raging reminder of his lustful visions was difficult enough. Sitting across the carriage and attempting to disguise the blatant proof of his arousal would be near impossible.

  Chapter Eight

  The Swan and Jackal was a grand, galleried, multi-storey structure, brick-faced and easily identifiable as a pinnacle favourite of the upper ten. Several elegant carriages and post chaises crowded the central courtyard of the coaching inn where drivers and footmen worked vigorously to secure and unload trunks, their parties already inside enjoying a meal or at rest after their lengthy travel. The guard at the entrance of the inn blew his horn with a blast at their arrival, a signal to summon the innkeeper at the ready, and Georgina’s eyes widened as she took in the hectic location. She’d assumed they’d make do with a less expensive guesthouse, having spied several from the coach window when she’d journeyed to Coventry all those months ago. But no, either Luke possessed discerning taste, a trait she was beginning to realize could very well be true, or he meant to impress her. She waved away the latter assumption as ridiculous and followed his lead into the establishment.

  The interior proved no different than the exterior. Fine papering in shades of citrine covered the walls in a pattern of gothic style. Plush carpets absorbed the fall of each bootstep and crystal wall sconces illuminated the first floor in soft ambient light. A dining room to the right appeared crowded, the scent of venison and other delicacies in the air, while a large sitting room, likewise as congested, sprawled into an area on the left as if to summon guests to find conversation or take respite amidst the welcoming cushions.

  Several clerks behind a tall wooden counter stood at the ready to assist tired travellers, a polished Davenport desk to the side. Polished keys filled boxes behind this area and business seemed to flow at a fast pace. No stranger to the finer way of life, she absorbed the surroundings and smiled. A good night’s rest would be wonderful, but first a delicious meal. And too, she’d share dinner with Luke. Their conversation had turned personal as they travelled and the only thing that might have pleased her more was if he’d ridden inside the carriage instead of out. Then she might have detected the pleasing smell of his shaving soap as when she’d leaned over him on the cobbles, her heart in her throat in fear he’d become injured or worse, angered to the point that he’d no longer wish to speak to her. These revelations jockeyed for attention as she made her way through the sitting-room area. When had he become so important
to her?

  ‘Here is your key. A clerk will be along any moment to show you upstairs to your room. For the sake of your reputation, Miss Reese, you are registered as my dear sister.’ Luke handed her a brass key on a leather chatelaine, the fob stamped with the numeral three. ‘I need to put up Snake Eyes myself. He’s had a long ride and I’d like to assure he’s properly cared for and fed. This inn boasts an excellent stable and I’m confident the hands are reliable, but I’d still prefer to see to my own.’

  ‘Of course.’ She glanced to the right where a wooden staircase led to a spacious landing before a long corridor, beyond which, she surmised, were the doors to numerous guest rooms. ‘This is quite an establishment.’

  He quirked a fast smile and nodded as a footman approached, and then without another word disappeared from view.

  She hesitated, lingering near the base of the stairs, while the flow of travellers and guests swarmed through the inn. This was much like the life she’d left behind when she fled London. Busy and bustling, convivial conversation rich with the anticipation of adventurous travel to be done. How many of these people harboured secrets or ran from mistakes? Did they seek a new environ to lighten their sadness or journey to visit family missed? Did they view her with the same question in their eyes? Still, she held no regrets, torn between her desire to help Luke and a vigorous apprehension at returning to a city that had recently shown her little kindness.

  ‘Lady Georgina Harwood, is that you?’

  Botheration, she should have worn a bonnet. She should have climbed the stairs and gone directly to her room. Should. The one word possessed such laudable ability to remind of regret.