Anabelle Bryant - The Last Gamble

A solemn silence enveloped the room and he regretted the loss of their amiable discussion.

‘I understand.’ She placed her hand atop his in what might be a gesture of comfort and, even though Biscuit remained behind closed doors, a bark sounded in objection. And then a question slipped from her lips. ‘What happened?’

He stared down to where she rested her hand atop his before he continued, expressionless and matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll make short work of the story since you have no idea of the history, but it should suffice to know my half-brother had me watched, calculated my profits from the hell and decided that, when he fell into debt, he should help himself to my money. I refused. I mean, this was the same man who shunned Nathaniel and I when we arrived in London. He had no use for a bastard half-brother, at least not until he measured my worth in coin.

‘Anyway, I returned home one day to find Nate’s governess in tears. The silly cow had stayed in one spot and cried for hours, too scared to notify me at the hell and reveal Nate was stolen. All that precious time wasted. She described a man who resembled my half-brother as the person who came and took Nate away, but she vanished right after, leaving me with nothing but regret. Every avenue of pursuit has been exhausted twice over. My half-brother carries on his life like nothing ever happened. It makes little sense.’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself.’ She spoke softly. Akin to most people, she likely wondered if anything she said could ease his suffering or if his show of strength would obliterate true emotion.

‘I promised him a puppy, one that doesn’t bite.’ He flashed a half-smile in her direction. ‘Just two days before he was taken I relented to his constant request for a scallywag friend.’ Hopefully the anecdote would relieve the earnest mood.

‘You’ll find him. I’m quite sure.’

‘And you’ll help, won’t you?’ He’d spoken about Nathaniel with sincerity, but now she’d supplied the fortuity to enlist her assistance, he wouldn’t waste the chance. He turned his palm over so he could loosely lace their fingers. Her skin was soft and warm. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. If he lifted it to his lips, would he smell apricots or blackberry?

‘Please know I’ve given it serious thought, but it’s not the right decision for me at this time. Who would take care of Biscuit? I couldn’t bring him along on the two days’ ride. Everyone would be miserable. I suspect you most of all.’ She tried a tentative smile and he lost his ready reply, though she didn’t pull her hand away.

‘I assumed the pug was self-reliant. Certainly, there’s someone in this frowsy nowhere town who would watch the darling while you take a short trip.’ He stood, reluctant to release her hand and at the same time intent on persuasion. He carried his plate to the sink, more out of habit than conscious thought. ‘A recent charge might enjoy the task or a kind neighbour? The vicar? There must be someone with thick skin in Coventry who would grant you the favour.’

She tried not to acknowledge his teasing and he could tell when she lost that battle.

‘I have other considerations. Your suggestion I leave unexpectedly reminds me of Lord Tucker and my responsibility to him.’ She stood now too.

He waited, eyebrows raised in question. She answered in less time than he expected.

‘Lord Tucker returns later this week and will require my services.’

The vague explanation had only one brow dropping.

‘His son is my charge.’ The words brought with them an awkward stretch. ‘I’m so sorry. I know it must be difficult to hear me speak of a similar situation.’

The last thing he desired was for Georgina to feel responsible. Pity was the most reprehensible sentiment, one for which he’d never had use.

‘How is your arm?’ Her eyes flared wide. ‘I should have asked you sooner.’ She shook her head in disapproval and admonishment before she stepped closer.

‘Sore.’ Much like the situation in my pants. He adjusted his stance, unwilling to allow the night to take a wrong turn and at the same time pressing his cause despite she attempted to change the subject. ‘Come with me to London. I need your help and won’t keep you there a day longer than necessary. You’ll be returned to Coventry before this Lord Tucker is any smarter. You have my word.’

Chapter Six

His word? Georgina stared into Luke’s intense gaze. She would have promised him anything in that moment, but not this. Not London. She couldn’t expound or supply the reason. Still, he must believe her a despicable wretch to refuse. He sought to find his son and she declined to assist. She despised herself. ‘It’s complicated.’

She dropped her eyes, unwilling to create the everlasting memory of his angered disapproval. But instead of railing at her or pleading his case further, he closed the distance between them and stroked his fingertip across her cheek.

She stared at him intently, noticing too closely the dark smudges beneath his eyes and strained creases that bracketed his strong jaw. It seemed that, just below the appearance he showed to the world, a tense tremor of emotion existed, and she wasn’t sure of what nature to label it. Still, in the glorious grey depths of his irises there was an acute tenderness, whether he meant to expose the quality or not.

‘What keeps you here, Georgina?’ His voice was a husky rasp that slid across the back of her neck like a velvet caress. ‘Surely even a prim governess, one as beautiful and desirable as you, thirsts for a bit of adventure now and again.’

The rich timbre of his question caused gooseflesh to dot her skin and it all at once became too much, the masculine scent of his nearness, the heat of his skin and undeniable plea in the depth of his eyes. He leaned a hair’s-breadth closer, his exhale sweeping across her temple and, for the tiniest breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her.

How she wanted that kiss. To exchange one memory for another more pleasurable one.

‘What is it that holds you back from taking a little time to help find a child?’

Tears stung her lids. His whispered query, frayed by emotion, touched her soul and yet she clung to fear. What if she returned to London and everything went wrong? She hated herself for making a selfish choice. The air between them vibrated with tension and anticipation. He waited on her answer and she quaked, anguished by the words on her tongue.

‘No more questions.’ As she whispered her response, she saw him swallow, her eyes following the movement of his Adam’s apple. They stood together, the coiled heat of desire pulling them closer while the answer to one singular question forced them apart. But she couldn’t acquiesce and destroy her family’s future in the process, simply because she yearned to experience his tempting kiss.

‘Just one more.’ He angled his chin, lowered his mouth and time slowed as if she watched from the soffit, a voyeur of her own forbidden desires, his lips upon hers, his plea, her promise, his luscious, beautiful mouth fitted over hers…

‘I can’t go with you.’ The words slipped out, barely able to fill the space between them before he pulled away and separated them with a black curse.

‘Not can’t. Won’t. You won’t .’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, spoiling his neat appearance with perfunctory efficiency, his tone now sharp as a razor’s edge. ‘There’s a world of difference between the two.’ His words sliced the air with undisguised anger and his eyes flashed dangerously.

‘You were going to kiss me to convince me.’ Her voice trembled though there was no mistaking the incredulous shock in her accusation. ‘That is the work of a scoundrel, a scapegrace.’ She was hot now too, but it had nothing to do with her anticipation of his kiss or the heated temperature in the kitchen, absolutely nothing to do with his devastatingly handsome disarray. No, insult fuelled her temper instead. Indignation reared up to trample disappointment and the foolish incrimination she’d practically disregarded her principles. ‘Did you think me a lonely spinster, desperate for attention and willing to compromise my decision with the first touch of your mouth on mine?’ Her face warmed with the picture drawn by the words but she continued, her emotions dismantled, a runaway carriage wheel, wobbly, off course, and out of control. ‘How dare you? I demand you go.’