Anabelle Bryant - The Last Gamble

This afternoon he would take Snake Eyes for a run and expend their redundant restlessness before he bathed and dressed for dinner. Should he bring a gift to the lovely governess? Flowers or sweets? Something clever to curry her compliance. He had no idea what she favoured but he’d soon find out.

Dinner smelled divine. The table was set with neatly pressed linen, the curtains drawn and Biscuit well fed, shut away in another room to guarantee he would not cause another troubling episode. Earlier, when Georgina had examined her wardrobe and chosen the amber gown, the best she owned here in Coventry, she’d almost decided to leave her hair down, her tresses often regarded by her friends as her loveliest feature. But in a belated judgement, she’d arranged the thick lengths into an attractive twist and pinned it up in keeping with her portrayal of a prim governess. This wasn’t a romantic liaison by any means, not a suitor come to call. It was an act of hospitality and gesture of kindness, and she’d be smart to remember Mr Reese, Luke , had one goal in mind.

Chastising herself for the romantic inclination, she recalled the contents of the letter to her parents she’d written earlier, the note long overdue. In two paragraphs, she assured them of her safety while concealing her location. She’d held back from writing sooner, afraid she’d weaken and return home, but now, distanced from the devastating emotions of that fateful day, she believed her decision for the best.

Coventry offered privacy and the quietude needed to sort out her future. She couldn’t go to London. London would be the cause of heartache and shame. Someday she’d return. She loved her family too much not to see them again, but at the present, someday offered the ideal amount of vagueness her spirit required.

Recalling London brought with it the stricture of society so unlike Coventry. Her parents held tight to public opinion and tradition. She’d be ruined were it discovered she’d cooked a meal and entertained a bachelor unchaperoned in her home. A clever bachelor gaming-hell proprietor, no less.

Still, a now-familiar pattern of guilt and remorse demanded she acknowledge the lifestyle she’d abandoned, her mind all too quick to flutter through a series of memories, whether elegant evening dinner parties or afternoon social calls. Her parents relished their social status afforded by relation to a peer of the realm. This truth in large part had fomented her decision to flee London and preserve their pristine reputation.

As if in challenge to her woolgathering, a sturdy knock sounded at the door. She glanced at the wood box clock on the sideboard table. Luke was punctual if nothing else. Coasting her palms over her gown, she touched a hand to her hair to summon composure and opened the door to greet him.

‘Hello.’ A bubble of anticipation danced in her chest. Forget punctual, Luke was devastatingly handsome. Framed within the threshold, the sun fading at his back, he depicted a sinful rogue, his face shadowed into sharp angles and lean lines. Black hair, glossed by reflected light, was combed away from his face to fall in a too-long lock on one side. His grey eyes sparkled with the electric glint of late-night stars, fleeting, white-hot, and dangerous, yet enthralling all the same. He smiled then, and her breath caught. That dimple would be the death of her.

‘For you.’

He handed a bouquet forward, every colour of peony tied together with a white satin ribbon and she couldn’t resist a tease. ‘You didn’t steal these from someone’s garden, did you?’

‘And run the risk of further canine catastrophe? Never.’ He stepped into her cottage and the evening suddenly became so much more than a gesture of hospitality. A giddy palpitation slinked through her ribcage, tickling her bones one at a time until it came to rest like a warm hug around her heart.

‘Something smells delicious.’ One dark brow slashed upward and he eyed the room with speculative interest before he continued. ‘You’ve caged the beast?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed, all at once aware of how secluded she’d kept herself. Oh, it was heavenly to have company. His company. Best she enjoy it this evening and not delude her heart it was an event to be repeated. ‘Dinner should be ready in a minute.’ She bustled about the kitchen placing the flowers on the table in a vase filled with water. Perfect. ‘You can pour the wine if you’d like.’

She glanced over her shoulder and then turned towards the wood-burning stove to conceal her delight. It seemed natural, right , or maybe she was so accustomed to spending time alone, anyone’s company brought with it appreciation. She didn’t trouble herself with the riddle. Opening the stove, heat struck her face and forced her focus. She removed the pan and placed it on the cast-iron trivet to cool.

‘I can help.’ He appeared behind her, so close his breath against her cheek caused a startle. She swallowed and twisted to face him, half expecting him to step away and simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t. She’d shut the stove but the kitchen blazed like an inferno. Her body heated from the inside out.

His gaze roved over her face slowly, studying her with intensity. ‘Do you always keep your hair tucked away and hidden like that?’

She licked her lips to get her mouth working again. ‘The length is too long to leave down. It would forever be in my way.’ She darted a glance beyond his shoulder to the table, unsure and at the same time drawn towards his heat. ‘We should begin before something gets cold.’ No chance of that.

‘Yes. Another good idea.’

Luke stepped to the side and allowed Georgina to lead. What was he thinking? He could only blame a sudden irrational addiction to the scent of apricots, otherwise the manner in which he sidled up to her near the kitchen counter was worthy of a slap or, at the least, another bite from Biscuit. Still, even now, as they chatted amiably through dinner, the governess was hard to resist. His fingers itched to pull the pins from her hair and discover how far the length fell down her back, her admittance a teasing dare that would not relent. And no matter the meal was delicious, he wondered at the taste of her kiss, and the ever-present question, if she smelled like sweetness all over, pestered his body into a state of randy desire.

He watched as she caught a drop of blackberry on her bottom lip, her tongue coasting over the sauce in a becoming curl that seemed to signal and invite him to lean across the table and taste the fruit right along with her. He’d need to rein himself in or he’d never be able to rise from the table without displaying the rise in his trousers.

‘So, do you have a large family?’ Mayhap a bit of jejune conversation would obliterate his overactive imagination. It couldn’t hurt to force a mundane topic.

She placed her fork on the plate rim and took a swallow of wine while the question hovered between them. ‘I have one sister and two loving parents.’

The answer was hard-earned and again he suspected she meant to hide things others would discuss without thought, her tight-lipped demeanour not at all as she appeared only moments before.

‘And you?’ she asked, though he could tell her mood had altered. Why would that be?

‘I’m afraid we don’t share that in common. I’m bastard born, no true family to speak of, no older brother or vexing younger sister, at least none I know of or who have come calling. Dursley may share a modicum of blood, but I could never consider him a relation. Our father died decades ago leaving nothing but bitterness behind.’ He inhaled, setting his silverware down on the table with deliberate care. ‘Nate is all I have. My son is everything. That’s one reason I need to find him, but if we had endless time I would tell you hundreds more.’