Her Wanton Wager (26 page)

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" The housekeeper snorted. "'My eyes mightn't be what they used to be, but I can still spot a falsehood from a mile away."

"Perhaps it is
you
who has forgotten who you're talking to," Paul retorted.

Lisbett's white brows drew together.

Aghast at her brother's rudeness, Percy said, "You cannot speak to Lisbett in so disrespectful a manner. You must apologize at once, Paul."

"Like hell I will." He stood, tottering as he did so. "I'm not a boy any longer, and she's just a servant in this household, even if she's older than sin." His chin jutted upward. "I am the master of this family now, and I will not be ordered about like some dull-witted child."

The octogenarian began to roll up her sleeves. "If you act like a child, you best expect to be treated like one—"

"Lisbett, may I speak to my brother alone?" Percy gave the housekeeper a pleading look. "There are things I need to discuss with him."

"In private," Paul said in a snide tone.

Lisbett grunted. "I'll be downstairs if you need me, Miss Percy. And you, sir,"—she waved a bat in Paul's direction, and he stumbled back—"just because you've gotten too big for your boots, don't think I can't bring you down a size. Master of the manor, indeed," she muttered as she marched off. "It'd have broken your father's heart to see you acting like a fool."

Percy closed the door and turned to her brother. A stranger, in truth, for the wreck of a gentleman who stood mulishly before her bore no resemblance to Paul.  

"How much this time?" she said quietly.

"I don't know what you mean—"

"I'll give you all my jewels. All my pin money. Will that cover it?"

Above the shambles of his cravat, Paul's throat worked. "Percy, I—"

"This has got to stop." Her words were firm, despite the welling of heat behind her eyes. "You are going to lose everything. Not only your fortune, but your ... life." When he remained stubbornly silent, she expelled a breath and said, "No one is worth such a disgrace. Not even Rosalind Drummond. You've had your heart broken—do you think you're the only person to suffer such a fate?"

"Goddamnit, I told you never to mention that name—"  

"You leave me no choice. Stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself and listen," she said.

He shot her a livid glare.

"Rosalind married someone else. There's nothing to be done. Either you get over that fact or,"—she shook her head—"you will destroy any chance you have at happiness."

Silence stretched. "I'll never be happy again," he said.

"That isn't true." The flat resignation in his voice brought tears to her eyes, and she dashed them away with her fists. "Please say you do not truly believe that."  

"Percy, for God's sake, don't cry."

Perhaps the intensity of the past month was catching up to her, for all of a sudden she couldn't hold back sobs. "I c-can't help it," she said between choked breaths. "Even if you are a nodcock, I love you. And to th-think you're throwing away your l-life …"

A hunted, desperate look came over his face. "I—I am going to stop. I swear it. I just have to pay these debts to O'Brien, and then ... I'm done."

"Do you swear it?" she said with a sniffle.

"Yes."

She wanted so badly to believe him. "And you'll stop the drinking as well?"

He raked a hand through his mussed curls. "Devil take it, do you want to make a monk out of me?"

"I just want to have my brother back," she whispered.

"Bloody hell." His arms circled her in a brief, fierce hug, and she clung to the strength that had always anchored her. Then he stepped back, his lips in their familiar wry twist. "What the blazes do you want that sod back for? He's a feckless fool who'll never amount to anything."

"Do not say that," she said, frowning.

"Why not? Papa did often enough."

"He didn't mean it, not really. He loved you. 'Twas merely his way of trying to motivate you—"

"The way he motivated
you
by filling your head with faerie tales of the
ton
?" Snorting, Paul sank back onto the settee. After a moment, he patted the adjacent seat, and Percy joined him with the wholehearted gladness she'd always felt whenever her older brother invited her along. "So tell me," he drawled, "how goes things with the object of your undying affection?"

She chewed on her lip. "I suppose you mean Lord Portland?"

"Who else?" Paul cast his eyes heavenward. "You've been extolling the virtues of the valiant viscount for months."

"Well, you see ... he and I ..." Flushing, she looked down at her hands. Yet there wasn't a way of saying it that didn't make her sound like a fickle fool, so she said plainly, "I've gotten over him. He wasn't at all the gentleman I thought he was."

"Not a
gentleman
?" Paul stared at her. "Did he make ... inappropriate advances toward you?"

Her cheeks burned. "Well, sort of. But it wasn't his fault entirely, you see—"

"
The bloody bastard.
" Paul rose, his hands balling. "I am going to put a bullet through—"   

 "Oh, no. You are
not
going to call him out." She sprang up in horror. "You'll just draw more attention to the whole thing, and then I'll be disgraced entirely. Besides, nothing happened. I knocked him onto his, um, backside before anything could." When Paul continued to look at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw, she said in a small voice, "The truth is that I led Portland along as much as he did me. It was all just a mistake. One that would only be made bigger by your interference."

"So that's it. You're done with Portland."

"He wasn't what I wanted. Nor was marrying into the
ton
," she said. "Well intentioned as Papa was, those were his dreams, not mine."

Her brother scrutinized her in an uncomfortably keen manner. Though he might be tap-shackled and worse for the wear, he was still one of the cleverest men she knew. Her shoulders tensed. He hadn't guessed about Gavin ... had he? The hothead would never listen to her explanations about the wager. He'd like as not challenge Gavin to a duel—and that was the very last thing she needed.

"You
have
grown up some, haven't you?" Paul arched a brow. "I wonder at the source of this newfound maturity."

She shrugged, hoping to convey an air of nonchalance. "Every miss has to grow up sometime. I am no exception. By the by," she said innocently, "I've heard from Nicholas."

This piece of information distracted Paul, as she'd known it would. "And what did he say ... about my situation?"

"I believe Nicholas' precise words were,
I am returning immediately to take care of the matter. For God's sake, tell Paul to keep his damned hide out of trouble until then.
"

Her brother grimaced. "Never a man to mince words, our Nicholas."

"Honestly, Paul, what do you expect him to say? You should be glad that he will salvage the situation."

If I haven't already fixed it first.
She wondered how she would explain her wager to Nick and everyone else. And who knew how matters would be settled between her and Gavin? Whilst she'd grown more and more certain of her own feelings, she did not know how he felt about her. Oh, she knew he wanted her, was possessive of her. But did he love her? Would he want a future with her even after she won her brother's freedom? She bit her lip.

"Nicholas fishing me out of the suds," Paul said bitterly. "Now there's a first."

Uneasy with her brother's shifting mood, she said, "You will do as Nick says, won't you? Stay out of trouble until he returns? This O'Brien you mentioned, you won't—"

"Careful, sis, you're starting to sound like mater. Nothing puts a fellow off more than nagging." Her brother cut off further conversation by rising unsteadily to his feet. "Now if you don't mind, I'll take you up on your offer of a loan and be on my way."

"Oh." She drew a breath. "Yes, of course."

As they left their mother's bedchamber, Percy recognized she was not helping her brother and did not know
how
to. But perhaps she knew someone who did.

TWENTY-FOUR

Gavin glowered at the pair of men sprawled and bleeding in the street before including the rest of the audience in his gaze. The crowd of passers-by ringed the front steps of The Underworld, eager for the sight of more bloodshed.  

"Anyone else want a go?" he said.

Gazes averted, feet shuffled.

"Begone then," he growled. "The club doesn't open until noon."

He turned and headed inside, Stewart behind him.

"You alright, lad?" his mentor asked as they entered the empty foyer.

"Fine." He flexed his hands, wincing at the sore knuckles. "Lyon's men are all bark and no bite—just like the dead bastard himself."

"That's three times this week they've challenged you. How long are you goin' to let this go on?" Stewart's voice was an irritated rumble. "We ought to go in and take down Lyon's club."

"Everyone already thinks we did Lyon in. I don't want to add fuel to the rumors. There's enough carnage going on," Gavin said grimly.

Though Lyon had been a bastard through and through, news of his death had roared through the stews like a lit match thrown to kindling. The men loyal to him had issued a warrant for blood. Since Gavin and Stewart had been the ones to discover Lyon slaughtered at the bawdy house, they'd been fingered as the culprits (like any self-preserving bawd, Antoinette was keeping her lips firmly sealed on the matter). 'Twas a vicious rookery tradition: eye for an eye—kill first, ask questions later.

"Can't 'elp but think the timin' o' the business was convenient. That we 'appened to be the ones to find Lyon an' get pinned for it."

'Twas an echo of Gavin's own thoughts. With Lyon gone, there was new territory for the taking, and Kingsley and the O'Briens were wasting no time jockeying for power. Beatings and opportunistic pillaging occurred daily, escalating the cycle of violence. Meanwhile, Gavin had to focus his energies on preserving his hide.

"Kingsley, Patrick, or Finian could have sent that man to the bookshop. They could have planted Lyon's dagger to rouse suspicion, knowing that I would hunt Lyon down at Antoinette's," Gavin said.  

"True enough. We'll get to the bottom o' this. " Stewart's eyes thinned. "And speakin' on gettin' to things—thought that old coot Magnus gave you Paul Fines' location."

"He did."

"Then why 'aven't we picked up Fines yet?" Stewart demanded.

Running a hand through his hair—then grimacing as his knuckles stung—Gavin said, "I'm considering my options." Which was true enough. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

"You ain't goin' to give into that chit—"

"I said, leave it to me." As his mentor scowled, clearly wanting to argue further, Gavin said, "Let's focus on more important issues. Lyon's dead, and I can't be far down the list. I want you to arrange for a visit to our rivals."

After a minute, Stewart said in grudging tones, "Get some ice on those fists, then, since you'll be needin' 'em."

Gavin strode off to the front card salon. Sunshine streamed through the bow window, gleaming off the mahogany bar. Filling a bowl with ice and a glass with whiskey, he sat down at the bar and let the cold numb his skin. Moodily, he nursed his drink. Hell's teeth, would the mayhem never end? He was weary to the bone of all the violence, the need to sleep with one eye open. What he wouldn't give for a moment of peace.   

"Sorry to disturb you, sir." The quiet words turned his head. Davey stood in the doorway, holding a tray of glasses. "The butler told me to stock the shelves. But I can come back later—"

"You're not disturbing me," Gavin said impatiently. "Go on and do as you were told."

Davey scurried to the other side of the bar, keeping his eyes lowered as he unloaded the tray. The servants had reported that the boy was a hard worker, with nary a complaint about anything. Yet Gavin had never seen the boy smile—except for that one time. With Percy.

Who could blame Davey? The minx had a way about her. Just the thought of her smiling face warmed Gavin's chest, chasing away some of the chill. The need to see her burned inside him; now, however, it warred with growing concern about her safety. The world was catching fire around him, and he wouldn't let her get singed by the flames. At the same time, he balked at any further delay of their meetings: her family was bound to return soon, and the time to win her was running out.

Which left one option. He had to speed matters along. When she came to him tomorrow night, he would have to renegotiate their terms. He had no choice but to seduce her, take the wager and her heart. And what the hell—if it softened the blow for her, he'd fish her brother out of the hole when it came to O'Brien. Once he had her loyalty secured, he would send her somewhere safe until the business with Lyon died down.

No small order you've set yourself
.
   

He brooded over his whiskey as Davey continued to stow away glasses. Something in the boy's somber, detached demeanor reminded him of himself.
No man is an island,
Percy had said. For so long, he'd prided himself on his self-sufficiency, surrounding himself with a sea of anger. Vengeance had kept him afloat.

For the first time, he wondered if he was also ... trapped.

Clink. Clink.
Davey stacked the glasses with the soulless efficiency of a soldier. With none of the carefree whimsy of a boy his age.

Gavin's chest tightened. He knew all too well that innocence was the price of survival. Percy's comment about Davey's infatuation leapt into his mind, and for some ungodly reason he heard himself say, "How is your milkmaid?"

The tinkling sound abruptly halted. Brown eyes peered up at him. "Beg your pardon, sir?"

"You were talking to Miss Fines about her," Gavin said. "Nan, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

Drawing conversation from Davey was about as easy as drawing a tooth from another boy. God only knew why he was attempting the task. Rubbing his neck, Gavin said, "How is the matter proceeding?"