"But Paul will have to remain in hiding. By himself and in that horrid place. I daren't visit him again for fear of leading the fox to the chicken coop."
"You think Mr. Hunt is monitoring your movements?" Charity said, sounding aghast.
"I wouldn't put it past the man." With a shiver, Percy recalled his parting threat. "I wish I could at least bring Paul some supplies. Foodstuffs, shaving implements, that sort of thing."
After a moment, Charity said, "I could do it. Mr. Hunt doesn't know about me."
"You? But Paul is in Spitalfields. Your papa would never allow it."
Charity's father owned an exclusive jewelry shop frequented by King George IV himself —a fact that garnered prestige, if not the prompt paying of accounts. The only thing Mr. Sparkler guarded more zealously than his business was his only child. Though Charity spent most of her time working at the store, she never complained about the long hours or her parent's strict rules.
"I wouldn't tell my father," Charity said, causing Percy's brows to climb. "I could say I was going to worship. The groom and my maid are sweet on each other, so they'd be happy to wait outside while I go inside the church. They won't even notice I'm gone. I could leave by the back door and hire a hackney—"
So much for her rubbing off on me. "Goodness, I am a bad influence on you, aren't I?" Percy said. "But I wouldn't want you to risk—"
"I want to do this. Please let me do this."
Percy blinked at Charity's fierce tone and the resolute set of her slim shoulders, as if she were ready to march into battle. "Um, if you are absolutely certain ..."
"I am," the other said with a vehement nod.
"You'd have to be very cautious," Percy warned. "To make sure no one is following you."
"I will take every precaution. Just tell me what to do, and I will do it."
Percy studied her friend. "My brother is deuced lucky, and he doesn't even know it."
A flush stole over Charity's pale cheeks.
"All right, then," Percy continued briskly. "I liked your plan about the switch up at the church. I have a few additional suggestions, however ..."
SIX
Hands steepled, Gavin sat at his desk as John Magnus gave the report. Leaning heavily on his cane, the old man looked out with one rheumy eye; the other was covered by a black patch. As usual, Magnus' wild grey mane was uncombed and his garb patched and tattered, lending him a disheveled air.
"You've searched everywhere?" Gavin said, frowning.
"The likely places a gent like Fines would hide. I'll start on the less likely." Magnus paused, stroking his straggly beard. "It'd help if you told me why you want the cove."
"I told you. He owes me money."
"With the coin you're paying me to find him, his debt must be worth its weight in gold. You're certain there are no other details you can give me?" Magnus said shrewdly.
Gavin's policy was to give the least amount of information necessary. In this instance, however, he needed to unearth Fines soon. To his surprise and displeasure, three days had passed, and Percy had not yet returned to take him up on the wager. Well, he meant to have her one way or another; what he required was leverage, and her brother was the ticket.
Mulling it over, he said grudgingly, "Fines is connected to the Marquess of Harteford. Perhaps he is hiding at one of the Harteford's properties—though I've had those checked."
"Harteford, eh? Powerful man. Wouldn't want to tangle with him myself," Magnus said, his eye widening.
"You're not tangling with him," Gavin said. "Your job is to find Fines. Besides, you needn't worry—the marquess is touring the Continent."
Gavin had kept tabs on his enemy. Morgan must feel free as a lark flitting about French châteaux and Italian vineyards with his precious family. Well, the bugger had better enjoy his days of freedom because they were coming to an end.
Magnus scratched his head. "As you wish, then. Perhaps Harteford has other holdings you're not aware of. I'll make the inquiries." The wizened man hobbled to the doorway. "And Hunt?"
Gavin raised a brow.
"Heard you'll be meeting with the Covent Garden bunch soon. None of my business, but they're a bloodthirsty lot." Magnus gave him a concerned look. "Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, I always say."
"I'll keep that in mind."
After Magnus departed, Gavin found his thoughts returning to Percy. He'd been so confident that she would come to him. If he felt the bite of disappointment, he told himself it was due to the fact that she'd put a dent in his plans. His revenge just wouldn't be as ... complete without Percy. Well, he was no namby-pamby to sit by and bemoan the lack of results. Nothing in his life had come without a struggle; why expect anything different in dealing with a little hellion? Drumming his fingers against his desk, he began to strategize.
*****
The following day, Gavin looked out the window of Plimpton's Haberdashery, careful to stay out of view. The little shop was part of the newly opened Burlington Arcade, a shopping mecca next to Bond Street. Beneath the graceful arched roof, stores such as this one offered all manner of high-end goods, from exotic blooms to specially blended scents. 'Twas just the sort of place for a privileged miss to spend her morning. Feral anticipation unfurled in his belly when he spotted Percy and her maid in the distance.
Right on time. As usual, Alfie's information proved spot on.
"They're coming," Gavin said. "Take your place, Plimpton."
The famed haberdasher, who happened to be a client of The Underworld, mopped at his balding pate. "If I do this, Mr. Hunt … the slate's wiped clean? I won't owe you anything?"
Not until you gamble the shirt off your back again. "Yes," Gavin said.
With a shaky nod, Plimpton took his place at the front counter. Gavin strode to the back; concealed by a velvet curtain, he could view all that transpired in the little shop.
Minutes later, a tinkling bell announced Percy's arrival. His blood stirred at seeing her dressed as a lady for the first time. By God, she was … stunning. Her feminine appeal struck him like a blast of sunshine after the rain. Shiny curls peeped from beneath her bonnet, and her cheeks glowed fresh and dewy. Her high-waisted white frock clung to her lithe figure, and he'd been right about her breasts: though covered by a modest bit of frill, those twin beauties were high and rounded and had a tempting bounce to them when she walked.
Hell's teeth, he was developing a cockstand just looking at her.
"Good day, sir. I hope you can help me—I'm in desperate need of a pair of gloves," Percy said, dimpling.
Damnit, even her voice makes me hard.
"You've c-come to the right place, miss," Plimpton stammered. "I have a fine selection, if you'd care to have a look?"
As the shop owner placed his wares upon the counter, the bell rang again. Gavin's lips twitched at the sight of Alfie dressed like a proper young lad. Sporting a child-sized jacket, waistcoat, and breeches, the urchin could pass for the son of a well-to-do family. As Percy's maid helped Percy try on a glove, Alfie ambled toward them. The boy reached out—with a notable lack of his trademark finesse—and snagged the maid's purse.
The woman spun around. "Why you thieving pup!" she sputtered. "Give that back!"
Alfie dangled his prize. "Come an' get it," he said and dashed out the door.
With a cry of "Stay put, Miss Percy!" the maid took off after Alfie.
Plimpton's gaze darted to the back curtain and back to Percy. As rehearsed, he said in a loud voice, "I'd best go lend a hand, miss. Wait here. I'll, er, lock up to keep you safe until I return."
Before Percy could utter a word, the haberdasher scrambled out of the shop, securing the door behind him.
"What on earth?" Percy muttered as she stared after the retreating figure.
With stealthy steps, Gavin made his way over. He tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around; to her credit, she didn't scream or—God forbid—faint. As usual, Persephone Fines was proving no typical female.
&nb
sp; "You," she said.
He bowed. "Good day, Miss Fines. Enjoying your shopping?"
Against the white satin lining of her bonnet, Percy's eyes were even bluer than he remembered. Her glorious gaze narrowed. "That boy was no thief. You set this up, didn't you?"
"I wanted a moment alone with you," Gavin said.
"Why?"
His lips quirked; he liked the way she cut to the chase.
"I didn't wish for you to forget me or my wager," he said.
"If only I could be so fortunate." She tipped her chin up. "I am, however, doing my best to put the incident behind me."
"Come, Miss Fines, surely you've at least considered the wager? Had a moment's curiosity about the adventures you and I might share?"
A flush tinged the curve of her cheeks. Her pearly teeth sank into her dimpled lower lip, a tell-tale sign of nerves. Aha. You have thought about me, you shameless vixen. Satisfaction expanded his chest; he'd known the animal attraction between them was mutual.
"Or," he said deliberately, "perhaps you're afraid to take me on?"
"I am not afraid of you," she retorted.
The fact pleased him. He chucked her beneath the chin—aye, her skin was even softer than he'd imagined—as she gasped in indignation. "Brazen little chit."
"Keep your paws off me." She swatted his hand away. "I am not brazen. I'm a proper miss, and I want nothing to do with you, you worthless scoundrel."
Some of his amusement faded. "You're lying," he said.
"I am not. You … you disgust me!"
His jaw ticked as another's voice shrilled in his head. One day you'll find me gone, you worthless guttersnipe. Rid of you and happier for it. Who'd blame me for wanting to be free of a stupid, disgusting brat like you? His mother had made good on her threats, too. One day, he'd returned to their miserable hovel to find her and all their earthly belongings gone.
"You want me, you little baggage, and you know it," he ground out.
"I would never want someone like you."
Red filtered his vision. Before he could think, he had her pressed up against the display case. Her breasts heaved an inch away from his waistcoat. Her skirts skimmed his thighs. Her little tongue darted out, wetting her lips. Lust and anger mixed, driving his breath out in harsh rushes.
"Think you're too good for the likes of me?" he sneered.
Her eyes wide, she said, "Are you mad? You're planning to destroy my brother—of course I don't want anything to do with you! Let me go, you oaf."
She shoved at him; his hands clenched the counter on either side of her. Even as her words sank through his haze of rage, he knew it was too late. Her clean, citrusy scent blossomed inside him, her ripe mouth beckoning. Hunger clawed at his gut. Just one taste …
He bent toward her.
Crack. The force of her slap snapped his head to the side.
Jaw throbbing, he started at her rosy features. Her eyes shot sparks at him. Stunned by his loss of control, he muttered, "I suppose I deserved that."
"You'll get more if you don't let me go," she warned.
What the bloody hell is the matter with you? Get a hold of yourself. Don't scare her away, you sod. He released his grip on the counter and raked his hands through his hair. Immediately, she scooted out of his reach.
"You cad." Her hand fluttered to her bosom; the half-buttoned glove flapped open, and the glimpse of her slender wrist was more erotic than a roomful of naked wenches. "You'll stoop to anything to get your way, won't you?"
He was hardly the epitome of morality. Yet he'd never forced himself on an innocent. The fact that he'd come close to losing his head battered at his pride. To add to the humiliation, now he had to wonder if he'd imagined the magnetism between them. A figment of his own lustful fantasies? He could have sworn that she'd felt something too ...
Don't be a idiot. Take command of the situation. Turn it to your advantage.
"As you claimed, you have no trouble resisting my advances," he drawled.
"Of course I don't!"
"Then why not agree to the wager and win your brother's freedom?"
"You need ask?" she said in incredulous tones. "I cannot trust you, sir, and today's incident only proves that fact."
"I stopped, didn't I?"
"Only after I slapped you!"
"Do you honestly believe that a slap could deter me from what I wanted?" He cast a pointed look around the shop. "We are standing here alone. The two of us in a locked room with no key in sight."
A furrow appeared between her fine, curving brows.
"I ceased because I gave you my word, Miss Fines," he said. "To my mind, today's event demonstrated that you can trust me."
"That's just .... ridiculous." Yet she didn't sound quite so convicted as she had before.
"Think of it. If you had agreed to the wager, you could have chalked up this meeting as a victory," he said, shrugging.
She bit her lip.
Now dangle the bait, Hunt.
He approached her, catching her hand before she could pull away. Deftly, he began to fasten up her glove. She quivered as his fingers brushed the supple underside of her arm; her breasts rose on a shaky breath. And if that didn't tell him enough, she swayed subtly toward him like a flower to the sun.
He released her and took a deliberate step back. "I think it isn't me in whom you lack trust, Miss Fines, but yourself."
She frowned. "That's absurd."
"Is it?" He lifted a brow. "The truth is you're afraid you'll succumb to my charm."
"Your charm? Hah. I have another term for that."
"In fact," he said, tapping his chin, "you probably couldn't even handle a kiss from me."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Hunt. I know what you're doing."
"Then you'd see this is a simple test. To decide which one of us is right." He paused. "Unless one of us is a ... coward?"
Her brows came together. Aye, he had her mark, alright. Miss Persephone Fines possessed a competitive streak—'twas not in her nature to back down.
After a few seconds, she said between her teeth, "'Tis to be one kiss only. No ... touching or anything else of the sort. And it ends when I say it ends."
"Agreed."
"And after this, I want your word that you'll leave me alone. You'll stop pestering me about this idiotic wager."
Clever girl. But he wouldn't have to pester her. He planned to hook her curiosity with a single kiss; after this, she would come to him.
"Again, agreed." He gave her a meaningful look. "Shall we?"
In answer, she shut her eyes and pushed out her lips.
Adorable as that gesture was, this time he would not lose control. It was no easy feat to seduce a woman with a mere kiss and one that involved no touching—and, he guessed, no tongue—at that. To lure a skittish miss without scaring her off. But he was up to the task.
He lowered his mouth to hers. At the contact, he felt a tremble of awareness pass through her and, damn, if he didn't feel a jolt himself. Her lips were as soft and full as they looked; she tasted of honey and lemon drops and a unique tart-sweetness that was hers alone. Flames ignited from their single point of connection, spreading through his veins. He could feel her responding to the fire, too. On a tremulous sigh, her lips parted, and if he wanted to, he could slip inside, show her the kiss that burned in his dreams ...
He lifted his head. Managed to master his breath and the hot swell of desire.
Her eyelashes fluttered open to reveal dazed, sapphire eyes.
"That was edifying, to say the least," he murmured. "Thank you."
"I—I don't know what ..." She took a stumbling step backward.
He made her a leg. "I bid you good day, Miss Fines." Reaching to his pocket, he withdrew a key, and went to unlock the door.
"You had the key all along?" she burst out from behind him.
He bowed to her again. Stepping out into the arcade, he realized he was … smiling. Because though the stakes were high and Percy was more w
orthy an opponent than he'd first suspected, he could not deny the simple truth.
Bloody hell, he enjoyed the games they played.
SEVEN
Miss Farnham gazed at the giant cake upon the table. She'd sworn to abstain from sweets. Yet bursting with marzipan and jeweled fruits, the kingly confection seemed to call to her in a seductive whisper.
"You know you want me ..."
—from The Perils of Priscilla, a manuscript that ought to be finished by P. R. Fines
Two nights later, Percy stood poised at the top of the staircase leading down into the bustling ballroom. A bittersweet pang struck her.
If only Papa could be here. If only he could see me now.
Given his origins, Papa had always dreamed of hobnobbing with high society, and she was certain he'd be tickled at Lady Stanhope's overblown event. Indulging in her latest craze for antiquities, the hostess had decked out the ballroom of her grand Mayfair townhouse in the Egyptian mode. A pair of plaster sphinxes greeted guests at the stairwell, and giant palms in golden urns surrounded the dance floor. Overhead, colorful streamers of Pharaoh blue were festooned between glittering chandeliers.
Descending the steps, Percy managed to find a quiet spot next to a pair of upright sarcophagi. She'd taken Charity's advice and sent a letter off to Mama and Nick; now she was at one of the premier events of the Season, trying to act as if things were normal. Trying not to think about Paul—or the fact that Hunt's proposition expired on the morrow.
The memory of the haberdashery gripped her. She still couldn't believe Hunt had gone to such lengths to see her. He'd eyed her with such hungry intent. And then the kiss ... Her pulse quickened. She'd been kissed twice before, by friends of her brother's. The pecks had been sweet and harmless. On the surface, her kiss with Hunt had been equally innocent, yet she'd felt something ... new. Different. Unbidden, his darkly masculine flavor permeated her senses, a hot promise rushing through her blood. That strange throbbing deep inside again, the flutter of wings beating for release ...
Stop it! You're not a wicked girl. You slapped Hunt, put him in his place. The only reason you allowed the kiss was to get rid of him. And now you have.
Her Wanton Wager Page 6
