by Gaelen Foley
She gasped aloud at the insult. “I beg your pardon!” Yanking her arm out of his grasp, she looked him up and down with the utmost indignation. “You blackguard. I’m not old!”
“Oh, darling,” he said sweetly with a sly, chiding smile, “don’t take my words the wrong way.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are the devil.”
He gave her a wink. “Pity you made a bargain with me, eh? Now go back to the boat,” he ordered softly.
“No.” She pivoted and tried to continue down the dock, but to her exasperation, he managed to step ahead of her and stood, looming, in her path, blocking her. “Listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me, Nicholas! As I said, we are doing this together, whether you like it or not! You agreed to cooperate.”
“Yes, but—”
“No, you gave your word that you’d obey my orders. Your word. Remember? That was our deal. Now, you either take me in there with you, or I’m sending you back to prison. Is that clear?”
He shut his mouth and stared grimly at her. “So that’s the way of it then. You resort to threats. Not that I’m surprised. You are a female, after all.”
“Oh, you noticed?” She snorted in haughty disdain. “Pity I’m just too old for you.”
“I was jesting!” he exclaimed. He stared at her for a heartbeat in bewilderment or something like it.
“What?” she demanded.
“You know bloody well I find you ravishing! But hell, if you’re going to send me back to prison anyway—”
He wrapped his hand around her nape and pulled her to him roughly; he claimed her mouth, his other arm snaking round her waist.
Slamming her against his tall, rock-hard body, Nick parted her lips with an insistent stroke of his tongue. He let out a throaty moan of sensual desperation as he tasted her, cupping her cheek.
Gin was reeling but did her best to ward off the dizziness, holding absolutely still. Damn him, he had just turned the tables on her; flummoxed her with unexpected pleasure and the sudden flaming of carefully repressed desire.
As her heart pounded, she did not know what to do. To her fury, he was much too good at this. So much so that she did not have the heart to stop him; for pride’s sake, however, she rejected her body’s untamed response to him with all her will.
He paused in kissing her and smiled knowingly against her lips though frustration roughened his whisper. “Kiss me back, you little hoyden, or I’ll throw you in this river.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Come on, you know you want to. One kiss. What are you so afraid of?” He nuzzled the corner of her mouth, making her nearly swoon right off the blasted dock. Her knees went even weaker, but he caught her all the more snugly against his chest, leading her into temptation. “Aren’t you curious about how it would be between us?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she pointed out, trying to sound aloof and utterly failing.
“At least the cat died happy. Kiss me back,” he ordered her again. “You know you want to. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like in the cave.”
She bit her lip in yearning at the memory of his glistening, hard body and pulled back to look into his eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything if I do,” she warned, her pulse racing with anticipation.
“No,” he assured her with a whisper of amusement, “not a thing.”
Then he kissed her again, and her feeble resistance melted away.
Nick tilted his head in the other direction, kissing her more deeply, as his clever fingers curled into her hair. Every inch of her flesh instantly burning for him, she clung to his muscled shoulders and met his kiss measure for measure.
His tongue plunged into her mouth. Everywhere he touched her, pleasure followed. As she ran her hands along his biceps and down his chest, she thought of his gorgeous, naked body in the hot springs, and despaired at the knowledge of how much she wanted him.
This was so unwise.
Yes, he was irresistible, but she was walking right into a trap. The ex-spy was using whatever means necessary to get his way, and she knew it—but the worst part was, she didn’t even care.
She shivered violently, but not from the cold November night. The stiff breeze off the river was forgotten in the searing heat that engulfed the two of them. They ignored the ferrymen around them, as well, fairly consuming each other in the darkness, the dock unsteady under their feet.
“God.” It ended all too soon as Nick pulled back, leaving her dazed and routed, and craving nothing except him.
He looked at her in amazement, panting.
Then he quickly reached out to steady her when she weaved slightly on her feet.
“That was incredible,” he breathed.
“Yes.” She swallowed hard, too dazed even to care that some of the boatmen were rudely applauding their display. “Not bad.”
Nick turned and gave their audience a sardonic bow.
In spite of herself, Gin laughed, blushing slightly.
He turned back to her, surely the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, dazzling her all over again just like he had when she was seventeen and had fallen in love with him from afar.
He held her stare, his night black eyes shimmering like stars. His lips, still wet with her kisses, shone in the lanterns’ glow; then they curved into a roguish half smile that made her shudder with naughty thoughts of pushing the scoundrel down onto her bed and keeping him there for a month.
“Whew,” he murmured, running his hand through his hair to fix it after she had rumpled it. Then he gave her a wink. “Now you can send me back to prison.”
“Where you belong,” she jested in a trembling voice.
His lips twisted; he tilted his head and studied her for a moment.
“Well, come on if you’re coming,” he said abruptly, stepping past her. “Let’s go get you a game piece, shall we?” With that, he strode off down the dock and headed for the back door of the gambling hell.
Gin was left standing there for a second, still lost in a softheaded haze of desire. Then she blinked herself back to the waking world after that dream of a kiss and hurried after him.
Chapter 8
Outside the back door of the Topaz Room, Nick waited for her restlessly, hands in his greatcoat pockets as he paced back and forth. He was doing his best to seem completely back to business as she approached, as if that fiery kiss of moments ago had never happened.
“I can’t promise you this will go smoothly,” he warned her in a low tone as she joined him. “I still think you should go back and wait in the boat—”
“Forget it.”
“But since you’re hell-bent on it,” he said with a wry smile, “I suggest you follow my lead. Don’t do anything to rouse Lowell’s suspicions. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open; conform to his expectations. Remember, he’s used to women who do as they’re told.”
“Ah, yes, you mentioned that. Young, beautiful, obedient women,” she drawled. “What wonderful creatures they must be!”
“If one likes that sort of thing. Some of us prefer a challenge.”
She looked askance at him; he winked at her, then lifted his fist, rapping a few times soundly on the back door of the dubious establishment.
A sliver of light promptly appeared.
As the door cracked open, the noise of the gambling hell tumbled out, disturbing the stillness of nighttime on the river.
Two towering, brawny door guards stood inside the doorway, looming over them as the wedge of light widened.
“Name?” one grunted.
“Lord Forrester. I need to see Mr. Lowell. It’s urgent. I’m in the book,” he added.
“Just a minute,” one rumbled, reaching for the guestbook that recorded the names of the house’s previously approved visitors. “Let me find it.”
Virginia leaned toward Nick’s ear while they conferred. “No alias?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Not here.” He was somewhat irked that Lowell’s two giant door guards had not recognized him. Of course, it had been a long time, and they were clearly not the brightest stars in the firmament. But whatever dullness lurked behind their thick skulls, Nick hoped Lowell did not sic them on him. It would not be fun to fight them.
The two brawny guards were close to seven feet tall, about three hundred pounds apiece, and full of themselves, like two sides of beef with an attitude.
While they sought to verify his bona fides with the house, Nick waited, keenly aware of the intoxicating woman beside him. The sensuality pouring off her was electric, like lightning in a dark, silken sky. She had shocked him with her hungry response to his kiss.
Damn. Now he’d probably be obsessed with how it would be to bed her until he had satisfied his curiosity.
Meanwhile, his late handler was probably turning over in his grave. This, apparently, was exactly what the old Scot hadn’t wanted: his daughter entangled with an Order agent. Especially not the bad apple of the lot.
“Found it.” The giant’s eyebrow arched. “But there’s a problem. You got a black mark next to your name.”
Shite, Nick thought.
“Sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to go talk to the moneylenders downstairs first,” the door guard said. “Once this matter’s settled, then you can come back up and play at the tables all you like.”
Virginia looked at Nick in shock. “You owe them money?”
He strove for patience and ignored her. “I am not here to play,” he repeated. “I need to speak to Mr. Lowell, as I’ve already said. Now go give him my name.”
“The Jerusalem Chamber is downstairs, Lord Forrester.”
“We can settle that business some other time,” he ground out impatiently. “Believe me, Mr. Lowell will want to see me—”
“No, he won’t. He don’t give audiences to people who owe him money. House policy.”
“I don’t believe this,” Virginia muttered under her breath. “So that’s why you didn’t want me to come in!” She turned back to the giants. “How much does he owe?”
“Don’t you dare,” Nick warned her. “I really think you should go back to the boat now—”
“Say it again, and you’re going back to prison,” she hissed at him in a confidential tone.
He turned just briefly enough to shoot her a glare while the doorman answered her query.
“We don’t keep specifics in the book, ma’am. The bankers in the Jerusalem Chamber have the details. Why? You want to pay his debt for ’im?” he jested with a broad grin.
“She’s not paying anything. Stay out of it, Virginia. Now, gentlemen, I don’t want to make you look bad in front of your employer and a houseful of clients, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. So either you take me down to Lowell’s office now, or I’m going to remind you who I am and what it is I do for a living.”
The larger one folded his arms across his chest and fixed Nick with a sullen stare. “Oh, I’m scared now!”
“Me, too,” the other chimed in.
Perhaps it was feeling him tense, gathering for a strike, that suddenly jarred Virginia into cooperating.
She suddenly took his arm and gave the guards a charming smile, though her grip on Nick’s biceps felt more like she was discreetly holding him back rather than the picture she made of a lady flirting with her escort. “Now, now, Nick, darling, don’t hurt the nice fellows. They’re only doing their jobs.”
“Wait a second,” the slightly smaller giant mumbled, squinting as if to search his memory. “Nick Forrester?” His eyes suddenly widened. “That Lord Forrester?”
“Humph,” said Nick.
“Yes!” she exclaimed sweetly. “You know, the famous Order agent—and government assassin?”
The two stared at Nick, turning pale.
He gave them an icy smile. “As I said, I’m not here to play. Now let me in the damned door before I lose my temper.”
The two exchanged an uncomfortable look.
“Well, er, I guess that’s different, then.”
Nick exhaled slightly. By their worried expression, Nick gathered that they were aware of their boss’s occasional barters with the Home Office: underworld secrets in exchange for the government’s leaving Lowell’s operations alone.
“Very well,” the larger doorman rumbled, watching Nick’s every move. “We’ll take you down to see him. He’s in his office. This way.” He eyed Nick warily, then clomped off ahead of them, his meaty hand resting on the pistol at his hip.
The second guard remained on duty at the door.
Nick gestured wryly for Her Ladyship to go in first.
She shot him a private glare and shook her head at him in silent, cynical reproach.
He scowled back at her. What business was it of hers if he owed the Tick money?
“Humph.” Lifting her chin, she picked up the hem of her skirts a bit and marched ahead of him in the loud, lively gambling hell.
Although from the outside, it was a plain, brick, ordinary building, on the inside, the Topaz Room transported one to a decadent fantasy realm of vice and self-indulgence. A fitting place to forget all about reality and completely lose oneself in feverish play.
The Topaz Room was decorated in the Roman arabesque style with strong, gaudy colors: dark gold walls, deep purple curtains with huge red and gold tassels to offset the greenery of the exotic palm trees everywhere and, of course, the green baize of the tables, the white flash of the dice, and the whirling red and black of the roulette wheel spinning round and round.
All along the edges of the main room were small, sumptuous alcoves with striped satin tent-roofs in the Turkish style and low, cushioned divans and benches.
Lowell’s “Jewels,” about a dozen prostitutes, ran around the premises dressed as belly dancers fit for a sultan’s harem, their eyes lined with kohl and little bells jingling around their ankles and naked waists.
Nearby was the faro table, over there, Macau; to his left, a topless woman dealt at vingt-et-un, and in the far corner, the not-quite-legal EO wheel spun dizzyingly.
A burst of cheering and laughter went up over at the hazard table, where the dice had just been kind to someone.
As Nick crossed the main room behind Virginia and the guard, all around him was noisy and colorful. The place was a seething hive of activity. The whores trolled for men, while the men, lost souls, flung themselves into their reigning passion.
Being there made Nick very uneasy. Not so long ago, he had been one of the damned, sunk in this particular circle of hell. That she should have found out his weakness from the doormen infuriated him.
Hadn’t his pride already suffered enough recently when she had first seen him in his prison cell and, more recently, pronounced him unworthy to speak to her son?
Not that he planned on making excuses.
But the shame he felt right now, thanks to her learning of his former vice, was just the sort of dark frame of mind that had made him easy prey for his old gambling mania. He wanted to tell himself that he was only human. That everyone had flaws. He had tried and failed to beat his many times; he had also attempted in vain to keep it secret from his fellow Order agents.
He could not really say why he did it. Why he had set himself up for ruin more times than he could count, as if he secretly wished his own destruction.
He believed that his time in prison had broken the curse for good, and he intended to stay free. He’d never admit it, but this was part of the reason he wanted to lose himself in the wilderness, that pure, pristine, virgin forest, untouched by all these forms of soul-corrupting madness.
But, once upon a time, the cards and the dice had been a kind of religion to him, the l
ast thing he had clung to after he had lost faith in the Order, the cause.
Again and again, he had gone back to the tables, like a dog to its vomit, waiting for the cards or the dice to show him a sign, the meaning of it all. That he had not wasted his life. That his sacrifice since boyhood had not been entirely in vain.
In some not-quite-conscious way, he had expected or at least hoped that evidence would be given him in the form of luck, that what he was doing mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Blind faith claimed that good would be rewarded. So he had convinced himself superstitiously that being dealt a lucky hand was a very stamp of approval by invisible forces greater than himself. Forces that spoke through the elegant language of statistical patterns and the unbreakable laws of mathematics. And that these mystical forces, by letting him win, would reassure him that he—lying spy and trained assassin—was nevertheless a good man.
He begged for that assurance.
But the cards almost always spoke otherwise, cruelly. So for him, every loss rang with doom, until, unnerved, he had finally quit and cursed himself for being so irrational. Ah, well. Maybe the fact that he was still alive at all was the very proof he had been seeking, because by all rights, he should have died at least a dozen different times by now.
“Through here,” the guard grunted, beckoning them through a door that opened off the adjoining room where food and drinks were served. He ushered them through, then pulled it shut behind them.
From there, he escorted them down a dim service stairway to the lowest floor. The kitchens and other service areas were sunk partly underground and gave way to the murky labyrinth of tunnels and storage areas beneath the building.
Nick was aware that these secret passages had helped Lowell conceal his black-market trade during the war. No wonder the Tick was as rich as a duke, he thought.
Far from the rowdy noise of the gambling hell, it was quiet as the grave the closer they got to his office.
Virginia glanced over her shoulder, sending Nick a dubious look. He gave her a subtle, bolstering nod in answer. She might be rethinking the wisdom of coming along, but there was no turning back now.
