The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant

and the letter to her parents clutched in her hand, she strode towards town intent on posting her message and forgetting her abominable behaviour from the night before. With a Herculean effort to absorb the tranquil landscape, Luke almost escaped her notice, but there he was, keeping pace with her on the opposite side of the roadway almost as if he’d watched her house in wait of her departure and now stalked from fifty yards. Which, most likely, was exactly what he’d done.

      He needed to find his son. She would have taken the same course of action.

      She glanced in his direction a second time and could only have unwittingly encouraged his interaction because the detestable man crossed the roadway before she could object.

      ‘Off to send a letter?’ He didn’t bother with the good morning that would have composed a civil, obligatory greeting.

      She noticed a similar missive in his hand. Could they both intend to visit the post this morning? It seemed an odd coincidence.

      ‘Leave me alone.’ A strict catalogue of indoctrinated manners forced her to gentle the request. ‘Please.’

      ‘Now why would I do that?’ He fell in stride as if she’d invited him to stroll.

      ‘I shall scream if you insist on badgering me this morning.’ The threat hardly sounded propitious.

      ‘No, you won’t.’ Sarcasm, mockery, or some equally rude emotion danced in his eyes. ‘You don’t wish to be noticed any more than I do.’

      She scoffed, unable to argue with his logic. ‘Are you writing to Viscount Dursley?’ There was no need to mince words. Biscuit already objected to Luke’s company. Best to carry on in a pleasant fashion in hope the pug would cease his complaints.

      ‘Are you?’ His steely grey eyes, the same ones which had heated her to the core last evening, glinted with cold regard in the slanted sunlight.

      ‘Of course not.’ Did he think her in collusion with his half-brother, the same man who’d abducted Nate? Botheration, that insult trumped any offence which came before. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

      Her remark may have touched a nerve. His expression softened a notch.

      ‘You’re right, it was.’ He swallowed audibly, the taste of contrite remorse apparently a new flavour on his tongue. ‘Accept my apology.’

      ‘For your rude insinuation?’ She wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

      ‘For a number of things. Thank you for a delicious dinner and kind conversation.’ He paused. ‘It was wrong of me to try to kiss you…’

      Pity you have regret when nothing has ever felt so right.

      ‘…And pressure you to come to London. You should know the two were unrelated, isolated actions.’

      She purposely viewed him with an expression that questioned whether or not he was stupid? Biscuit growled as if on cue.

      ‘Why doesn’t your dog…?’ He shot a suspicious glance downwards.

      ‘Like you?’ She readily supplied the words.

      ‘I suppose. He’s already had the last word and I’ve the puncture wounds to prove it.’

      She quirked the smallest smile. ‘Biscuit is normally a cheerful pup and has never shown poor behaviour before.’ She eyed the dog where he wandered a few paces before them. ‘I can only surmise he reacts to my caution. He is protective and loyal above all else.’

      Loyal? Infinitely so. The pudgy pug possessed the tenacity of a lion. Luke had told himself to surveil the cottage from afar and merely observe what the good governess was up to this morning, but for some reason he could not yet identify, he’d moved across the street and fallen into stride as if a glutton for further punishment. And too, he’d noticed she’d left her hair unbound, the glorious sheen of mahogany tresses well past her waist. He’d clenched his fists with the desire to thread his fingers through it, measure its weight, hold the silky strands against his mouth for a kiss. Would her hair smell like apricots this morning?

      Damn, if the governess didn’t cause him to feel things, inconvenient emotions when he most needed to be clearheaded. He had one purpose for pursuing Miss Smith and he didn’t need to muddle the issue with sexual impulse.

      And while he’d convinced himself the paper in her hand was likely a shopping list for ingredients to another scrumptious meal, the illogical suggestion it could be a warning sent to Dursley would not abate. Therefore, he rationalized a conversation was in order.

      She did not appear to appreciate his company this morning and he couldn’t blame her. Last night hadn’t proceeded as planned. Her words this morning might be tart, but whenever his gaze settled on her pink, cupid’s-bow mouth, which was fairly often, he regretted leaving last night without a taste. Damn, if he didn’t detect the lovely fragrance of her fancy soap or notice the soft blush of colour tinting her cheeks as she spurned his attention.

      Clubs, spades, diamonds, hearts.

      He needed to pull his thoughts together. He’d striven to feel nothing for so long, but now, with the anticipation of recovering Nate and the misplaced interest he found in Miss Smith, his composure was at odds.

      ‘I’m for the post.’ He waved the paper in his hand to illustrate his explanation, not at all like a white flag of surrender.

      ‘Yes, we’ve discussed that.’

      Oh, she was in full governess form this morning, speaking to him like he was a child and piercing him with an intense blue gaze that evoked the kind of feelings that reminded he was anything but.

      They’d reached the centre of town and he followed her lead across the main thoroughfare and beyond to the postmaster where they conducted their business in silence. And though he strove to hear the soft-spoken conversation she shared at the window, he failed, posting his letter quickly after so he wouldn’t lose her in the morning bustle.

      He managed to join her at the corner adjacent to the fruit and vegetable market where he’d noticed her just two days earlier. Peculiar, how it seemed he’d somehow known her longer than that. Two days seemed more two weeks where Georgina was concerned, and not due to tedium or boredom. Quite the opposite, actually. He found the more he scratched at the surface of the proper young governess, the more he wished to peer in further and investigate.

      He opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted before he could begin.

      ‘No, I haven’t changed my mind, so you needn’t enlist your practised argument.’ She flicked him a flash of crystalline eyes and then returned her attention to the bins of ripe fruit.

      The saucy minx.

      ‘I intended no such thing.’ Even to his own ears, the objection sounded weak. He followed her, two strides behind, as she moved away from the produce stand and advanced to the corner.

      While they waited to cross, a milk cart stalled directly in front of them, the merchant aimed at the cow-keeper shop across the way once the avenue cleared. Biscuit yipped a complaint, though the pug quieted soon after, all at once entranced by the rivulet of cream that dripped from the back of the cart to form a puddle on the cobbles below. The dog skirted underneath and Georgina tsked her annoyance, waving with insistence at the pug in hope he would return to her side. Luke watched with amusement, cataloguing the memory of the provocative and disapproving noises coming from the governess’s mouth. Biscuit promptly ignored her request.

      Luke could amuse himself all day with such nonsense, but a razor-sharp crack of a leather whip pulled their attention to a large dray blocking the intersection where the animal caused a fuss among the travelling animals and shoppers. The rangy mule attached to the brewer’s wagon refused to budge. The driver cursed a long string of words that provoked Luke to cover Georgina’s ears; and then, too, he’d have the opportunity to feel her hair, but he didn’t dare.

      At the same moment, on the opposite corner of the square, a sleek gig entered the roadway. The