Gemma touched her friend’s arm in comfort, anxious to hear more. ‘None of that matters if it enables you to locate Crispin and he returns home.’
‘Yes.’ Sophie placed her hand atop Gemma’s. ‘Anyway, Lord Gurts expressed his surprise upon hearing Crispin remained abroad because he’d thought he saw him two Saturdays past.’
‘This is brilliant. At last, a solid clue for you to investigate. You will tell your parents, won’t you?’ Gemma couldn’t keep from hugging Sophie’s shoulders.
‘Oh yes. I could never keep something this promising to myself. Father hired a man who will need to know as well. I do hope this leads to something. I miss my brother dearly.’
‘You must be strong. This may very well pose the clue needed in finding him.’ Gemma let her arm fall away from her friend and cast an equivocal glance towards the Bardsleys’ back windows. Yes, she’d meet with Winton when he requested she do so, for no other reason than the everlasting hope he might produce a piece of useful evidence and she’d find herself in the same glorious position as Sophie, with a hopeful scrap of information. ‘I knew attending this tedious parlour week after week would eventually prove successful. At last it has for you.’
‘We won’t stop until we discover what you need to know, Gemma.’
‘Thank you, Sophie. I suppose, in the meantime, it’s back inside to play Loo.’
‘You need sex.’
‘What?’ Cole pivoted away from the glass window overlooking the gaming floor and glared at Luke behind his desk. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You heard me.’
When he didn’t reply, his friend elaborated.
‘You’re pacing across my carpet, back and forth in front of that window like a caged animal. The tension is palpable. I know brandy isn’t your thing, so I default to what is. Sex. Rutting, plain and simple. You’ve never denied it before. Devil knows any ladybird working the hell would leap at the chance to make the beast with two backs with you.’
Surprised by Luke’s blunt admonishment, Cole tempered his reply. He didn’t need sex. He knew what he needed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know you’re annoying me.’ Luke tossed the papers he held onto the blotter. ‘And you’re wrong. Even if sex isn’t the answer, it will spend this agitation that keeps you wearing a path in front of my desk. The cursory scowl down to the game floor without really seeing isn’t fooling me. Are you expecting someone?’
‘No.’ Expectation was an indulgence meant to deceive.
‘Why don’t you visit one of the pleasure houses you favour? You’ll thank me tomorrow.’ Luke returned his attention to the ledger with blithe dismissal. ‘Seems like a harmless way to remedy your problem. What’s the worst that could happen?’ He followed that question with a mischievous chuckle.
But Cole wasn’t laughing. He had no desire to visit a brothel and the often excuse he used to leave the Underworld when the walls pushed in and he needed escape wouldn’t solve his problems now. If his friends only knew the truth of his dedicated sacrifice. He might enjoy the attentions of a lightskirt occasionally, but he never had intercourse at the brothels, although he allowed his friends the convenient assumption.
He’d witnessed too many unwed women filled with shame, desperate to find an alternative to a city asylum where they would be ostracised before and after the child’s birth. A child they would never be allowed to love, given away and publicly shunned, no matter the woman had committed no sin greater than lying with the man who got her with child in the first place.
Some women went to extreme measures to end their pregnancy, frantic attempts to ingest vile elixirs of ergot and rue or, worse, life-threatening trials where they attempted to cause bodily harm to the baby or themselves. He tightened his fists at his sides with the thought. Unwed mothers were one of the most important reasons he’d created Second Chances and he wouldn’t become yet another male who impregnated an unprotected woman. By the same turn, he couldn’t abstain. He wasn’t that good of a man. Still, he didn’t have to risk adding another bastard to the world. French letters weren’t absolute. He was a rare case, able to escape the death sentence that accompanied a by-blow’s fate.
Of course, there was no question he would do the honourable thing if called upon, but it wasn’t in his plan to destroy three lives with a careless moment of pleasure. How did one find happiness after a beginning formed from regret? The irony of his contemplation couldn’t be more sharp.
With a self-written moral code, he kept his liaisons discreet and generally confined to the oral ministrations that would not compromise anyone but himself. Perhaps that was why he craved Gemma so desperately. She represented everything he would never have in its most beautiful form. A wife, a home, a loyal woman to hold close at night. Every night. Through the night.
‘I’m gone.’ He threw a curt nod towards his friend and made for the door.
‘Knew that already.’ Luke didn’t look up.
Outside, Cole heaved a huge breath, tossed a few coins to Ace and the other boys who minded the front of the hell, and set off on foot to exorcise his frustration. With Charlatan already secured at Marleybone’s, he’d walk home. Perhaps if he exhausted himself, sleep would come more easily.
Besides, he preferred the night. Daylight too often revealed all the ills of the world, all the exclusions that he’d come to notice and deflect as he grew older. How many evenings had he roamed the streets as a child, alone, fighting off fear as he scoured the ground for any bit to be found and sold, a silver button, leather glove or brass buckle? Life was simpler when he didn’t consider what might have been. He belonged to the streets, his footfalls on the cobbles as necessary as the beat of his heart.
‘That’s not the dress I requested.’ Winton donned a grim smile, his expression that of a man who believed he had the upper hand.
‘You’re not the man I thought you were.’ Gemma kept her distance. They’d advanced a distance from the house, once again near the stone wall and gate that separated the properties, but she was wary of Winton and would not offer him the advantage.
‘Are we to have a game of wits?’
‘This isn’t a game.’ She watched as he stepped closer, his smug grin causing her fingers to curl into fists.
‘Isn’t it, though?’ He angled his head as if considering a matter of great importance.
‘I’m not for games this evening, Lord Winton, and only risk this walk in the garden for hope of learning something of my father’s final hours.’ A pang of despair accompanied the admittance but she would not allow it to deter her.
‘Nor am I. How convenient.’ He eyed her in a way that contradicted everything he’d just said. ‘Let’s conduct our business then.’
‘Miss Devonshire knew nothing of my father. You told me a lie.’ Gemma delivered the falsehood with ease fuelled by how wholly she despised Winton this moment.
‘That’s an impossibility.’ Confidence nicked, his brows lowered with disbelief.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Gemma straightened her shoulders, resolute and rigid, prepared to defend her fabrication.
‘No. Although your words bear no truth.’ He stepped closer as if looking for a confession in her eyes. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t continue this little liaison. I will assist you when next you visit Miss Devonshire. Mayhap the woman was unsure of speaking with you and therefore denied you the proper explanation.’
Not at home was more accurate, but Gemma would never reveal that fact.
‘There is no liaison, milord.’
‘So formal and rigid. I confess I like how milord sounds coming from your lips. I should be that man. It suits.’ He arrived in front of her and Gemma needed every ounce of determination not to retreat. ‘You may give me that kiss now. It has been on my mind since last we spoke. You do enjoy stringing a gentleman along, don’t you? There’s a name for women who play such games.’
She slanted
him her most venomous glare.
‘Come now, a deal is a deal.’ He reached out, trailed his fingertip in a line along her cheek. She struggled not to shudder.
‘You have offered me no useful information and therefore I owe you nothing.’ A hitch of alarm made her voice rise. If he were to force himself upon her, she would be condemned for leaving the party and accepting his advances or worse, Winton would claim he must act upon chivalry and they would be engaged before morning. Either avenue offered doom.
‘Come now, Gemma. Such a face… one would believe you think yourself above me.’ He paused, but only for a moment. ‘All right, if I must entice you… Why don’t you question your brother where he was the night of your father’s death? He may know more than you realise, more than he ever revealed on that evening two years past.’
Winton smirked or perhaps it was a smile. She didn’t wish to stare at him overlong.
What did his words imply? Was Kent somehow connected to their father’s death? Did he purposely exclude facts or circumstances that implicated a more complicated problem? She had been told her father died in a horrible accident. But what if it was an intentional lie of deceit? She all at once had difficulty catching her breath and at the same time tears threatened; still, she refused to show Winton how thoroughly he’d affected her. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ His deprecating placation grated on her self-control. ‘That’s why you need me. Now about that kiss.’
She adjusted her stance and somehow, through her avoidance of his person or shrinking retreat, found the stone wall at her back. Trapped. Her heart began a nervous race. Not even a scream would save her. Undoubtedly, Winton would claim an indiscretion and she would be married to him by the morrow in order to escape scandal thrust on the duchy. She’d played right into his greedy hands.
A voice rose up inside her and, by force of survival, she reminded it was only a kiss. She could do this. To allow it offered a means of escape.
‘Look at you now, Gemma. Back against the wall. Hidden out of sight. Two of my favourite conditions. How convenient.’ Winton trapped her with his body, one boot propped against the wall, his arm a barricade to the opposite side.
‘A kiss shouldn’t cause fear, milord.’ She clenched her teeth tighter.
‘Am I frightening you? I’ve forgotten my manners.’ He lowered his arm and withdrew the slightest. ‘Although it does add to the pleasure, doesn’t it?’
‘I could scream.’ Her voice trembled and she damned herself for it, that sensible voice that prodded she accept his single kiss long ago drummed into silence by revulsion.
‘It’s only a kiss, Gemma. Save your screams for our other activities. Oh, what fun we’ll have.’
He might have missed it, the hushed whisper of two lovers behind the wall, for his mind was muddled with a multitude of questions which peppered his self-worth, future desires and overall unhappiness. But he didn’t. An immediate awareness of a female, scared and defensive, alerted his attention. Slowing to silent steps he approached the same yard where he’d overheard the unlikely promise by an unseen man and petite blonde woman.
Bloody hell. That female had been Gemma. He’d recognise her anywhere now that he’d shared her company, memorised every detail, ravished her while he dreamed. But what of this bargain and who was the gentleman who frightened her?
Possessiveness, strong and insistent, joined anger and vigilance to fire him into action. He laid his palms flat on the wall and inched closer, deciphering the quiet conversation as he approached the gate in the darkness.
‘You haven’t provided me with one bit of information. I see no reason to allow this kiss when you have yet to prove useful.’
Oh yes, it was Gemma. He knew her voice, could envision her lips as she spoke, proud of the defiance in her reply.
‘Surely you’ve been kissed before. Kent can’t keep the leash that tight. I never believed you skittish, although breaking you could prove…’
The resounding echo of a slap caused Cole to smile. He stepped to the gate and with a swift leap, landed beside the two in the garden.
‘A slap signals the lady does not wish for your attention, milord.’
A combination of surprise and fury marked Winton’s expression, though Cole saw the reflection of admiration and relief in Gemma’s eyes.
‘Hewitt?’ Winton stepped away from Gemma, though not nearly as far as Cole would have liked. ‘What are you doing in this part of town? Skulking about the back entrances of a prime estate spurs thoughts of suspicious activity and burglary. Harsh gossip wouldn’t benefit the Underworld’s reputation.’
He should remove Winton’s pompous grin with his fist. He glanced to Gemma, hoping his presence eased her discomfort. ‘I heard the lady’s distress as I passed through and decided to intervene.’
‘How chivalrous of you.’ Winton’s mocking tone negated the compliment. ‘No need to be concerned. Isn’t that right, Lady Amberson?’
Cole watched Gemma nod, though her eyes told a different story.
‘I suppose the others are wondering of the delay at the table. We should return to our Loo.’
Winton extended his hand and Gemma hesitated. Cole’s mind spun with any reason to speak to her alone and secure she remained all right, but her being in the garden with him was more censurable than Winton, at least to an onlooker’s eye.
‘I will return in a moment. I wish to thank Mr…’
Her pretence of not knowing his name endeared her further.
‘Hewitt.’ He supplied.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Winton scoffed, his arm dropping to his side as he returned to the slate path. ‘I’ll make your excuses but do not keep us waiting long. You lost the last trick and it’s your turn to pay the stakes.’
Chapter Nine
Gemma wanted to fling herself into Cole’s arms and shower his face with kisses, but her exuberant desires were best left to imagination. She couldn’t believe he stood before her. If only she had more than a minute or two to thank him for the timely rescue. She moved nearer where he remained by the gate, her heart thundering in her chest, and not from Winton and his abhorrent insistence.
The way Cole had leapt over the fence, landing two strides from Winton, his expression stern, a glint of challenge in his eye, guaranteed she would never forget his valiant rescue. And he had no idea it was she, yet placed himself within the situation to save whoever needed assistance. The act spoke well of his character.
‘You arrived at the finest moment. Thank you for that.’ She matched his eyes, glistening in the slanted light from the glowing windows of the estate, that same unruly lock across his brow. How she itched to thread her fingers through it, feel the texture, the soft silky caress against her skin, and sweep it back into place, all with the possessiveness of a woman who belonged, someone who’d earned the right by earning his love. That same yearning, to be wanted not for her station, but for her heart, rose up with strength. She swallowed, dismissing the persistent longing, and averted her eyes before distress resurfaced. She was not as successful to disregard desire, the man able to charm by the dint of his handsome smile.
‘Has Winton become a problem? Is that why you avoided his notice at the bookstore?’ Cole’s questions were gentle, though she had no doubt he expected answers.
‘You needn’t worry.’ Although the notion that he would caused a strange fluttering in her stomach. ‘I would very much like to thank you.’ She raised her eyes to his.
‘You have.’ He tilted his head and the space between them shrank.
‘Another way.’ Her breath caught, the daring suggestion unlike anything she’d spoken before, yet she thought she would die or at the least slice away a piece of her heart if she did not kiss him one last time.
Recognition sparked pleasure in his eyes and, like smoke in the night air, all inhibition dissolved. He opened the gate, reached for her hand and tugged her behind the wall. Sh
adows closed in around them, but his fingers, strong and solid, interlaced with hers, trembling as he led her forward.
Perception and intuitiveness took hold. He leaned over her and she was tempted to press her body to his to steal some warmth, absorb his scent, yet she couldn’t think with him so close, his mouth poised above hers. Her skin tingled with awareness. He still held her bare hand. His thumb, rough and calloused, stroked over the skin of her palm with the most tender of touches. Thank heavens for Loo and the necessity to leave gloves behind. Thank heavens for daring and her suggestion of this kiss.
They stood in silence, her heart pounding in her chest, and when at last he leaned in he did not capture her mouth as she’d anticipated, his sensual touch unexpected and otherworldly.
The heat of his breath whispered over her skin as he pressed his lips below her lobe, kissing her pulse as it drummed a frantic beat against his mouth as if he could absorb the life within her. The rough texture of his whiskers abraded the sensitive skin, delighting and daring to leave a mark she wanted desperately to see in the looking glass. He spoke against her ear, throaty and sensual, each syllable a vibration that echoed through her.
‘You smell delicious.’
He traced kisses along her jaw, as soft as a feather’s caress, so light she wondered if it wasn’t a work of her imagination; but yes, the undeniable sensation of his hands laced with hers, the heat of each touch, caused her body to react with undeniable pleasure. Her breasts became heavy, the nipples pressed tight in her corset suddenly hard and sensitive, while beneath her skirts, at her most intimate place, she grew wet and aching.
And he still hadn’t found his way to her mouth.
He paused and she wondered at his thoughts, his eyes concealed by darkness. His eyes. His eyes told her the whole story, but she wouldn’t be offered that advantage tonight. He brought his hands up to frame her face, the first touch of his mouth upon hers arrowed straight through to pierce her heart, mark her soul, his kiss unhurried, deliberate and passionate.
Into the Hall of Vice Page 9
