The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant

and Biscuit trailed after the dripping cream, his tongue lolling in pleasure, his tail wagging in euphoric approval.

      Everything from that point occurred with lightning speed. The oncoming team of horses thundered forward and the milk-cart driver, anxious to reach the cow keeper, darted with his conveyance towards the centre of the square, avoiding the belligerent mule and aligning with the large dray in protection. Unfortunately, Biscuit proved neither as agile nor as clever. The pug stood frozen in the roadway as the approaching team stormed forward. The last thought Luke processed was the high-pitched yelp of the dog combined with Georgina’s frantic shriek.

      In a heroic act he would later use to question his sanity, Luke lunged into the thoroughfare beyond the milk cart and braying jackass to scoop Biscuit from beneath the oncoming hooves of the team, tucking the dog into his arms as he moved aside. His back hit the cobbles with enough brunt to force the air from his lungs and eject the pug from his hold, but despite the animal struggled for freedom, Luke clung to Biscuit’s body and rolled out of harm’s way. All he could think was that he’d saved the damned dog and hopefully curried enough favour with Georgina so she’d assist in locating Nate, except it was the part where his temple struck the curb and knocked him unconscious he hadn’t planned upon. He might have laughed at his foolishness if everything hadn’t suddenly gone black.

Chapter Seven

      Georgina ran across the roadway, bustled Biscuit into her arms and knelt beside Luke, her eyes wide and breath short. Depositing the trembling dog beside her, she leaned over Luke’s prone form, her hair falling across his chest, her nose nearly touching his as she listened for breathing. He groaned and she released a racked shudder of relief.

      ‘As many have predicted, I’ve landed in the gutter.’ He lifted his head and then, thinking the better of the movement, returned it to the cobbles with care. ‘Another moment should do it.’

      ‘Mr Reese, are you well?’ Her voice had escalated to a squeak, but she had no way to stop her reaction. Fear pulsed a violent rhythm in her heart. ‘I’m so sorry. You saved Biscuit.’

      ‘I’m sorry too.’

      He groaned the complaint and slit his eyes open. She moved back the slightest degree to facilitate his focus, though she hovered fairly close to his handsome face. Why hadn’t she noticed the myriad flecks of colour in his eyes, the length of his dark lashes, the strong set of his chin? She’d memorized the location of that dimple, but it was nowhere to be seen at the moment. At their nearness, she could smell his shaving soap, something rich and spicy. She inhaled again, wanting to remember the scent.

      ‘I never expected you to be sorry.’

      His unexpected tease eased her worry. Surely if he contrived a jest, he couldn’t be all that addled by the knock to his head. ‘No. I’m grateful and upset you’ve taken a fall on my behalf.’

      She touched her fingers to his cheek and his eyes shot open, his gaze soft as cashmere. She rather wished they didn’t have to break the moment, but traffic continued its daily flow on all parallels and he could hardly be comfortable scuttled against the cobblestone curbing.

      ‘May I help you up?’ She didn’t wait for an answer and clasped his hand in hers, Biscuit wisely silent as the dog backed away to allow them ample maneuverability.

      Without grace, he rose from the street and brushed his trousers clean, a few brisk strokes and he finished. When he lifted his eyes and matched her apprehensive gaze, she finally found a trace of reassurance he remained fit.

      In a habitual motion, she swept her hair over her shoulders and noticed his gaze followed the motion. ‘First your arm, now this. Biscuit is proving—’

      ‘The bane of my existence.’ He rubbed the back of his skull and examined his fingers. Satisfied when they came away clean, he heaved an exhale and returned her regard, though his trousers weren’t as fortunate. Roadway grime streaked down his right thigh and a wet stain that could be nothing good marred one knee. ‘Hard to believe such a compact creature can produce so much trouble. I’ll be sure to purchase Nate a different breed.’

      The reference to his son did not escape her notice. How appalling she hadn’t changed her mind sooner. No doubt existed now. It was the least she could do in return of the repeated menacing Biscuit provoked. ‘I will be happy to assist you when the time comes for selection, but first let’s get to London where we can initiate Nate’s return.’

      It may have taken him an extra moment to comprehend her amenability because he continued to straighten his shirtsleeves and roll his neck until at last he dashed his eyes to hers, both black brows slanted upward.

      And then that dimple appeared, and her heart skipped a beat. Botheration, she should have agreed sooner if it warranted the boon. Of course, they would need to discuss every detail. She had no desire for anyone to discover she ventured into London in the first place and she’d make clear she planned to leave with expedience. But if by doing so she could help in even the tiniest manner to reclaim Nate, then they would set out at first light tomorrow.

      Every ounce of tension fled his body in a rush, faster than he’d darted out to save her pugnacious pug, more intuitively than he’d noted the delicate weight of Georgina’s hair draped across his chest or the subtle tease of apricot soap as she’d leaned over him to enquire of his wellbeing. She would travel to London. She would help. Thank God.

      ‘Thank you, Georgina.’ She smiled and he realized they’d advanced to an ataraxic level of companionship. Relief, strong and vibrant, fortified his appreciation and caused a tremor of laughter in his voice. He swept his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face as he released another cleansing breath. ‘I’ll arrange for the carriage and driver. It will take a solid two days’ travel if the roads remain passable. Do find a suitable caregiver for Biscuit so you’ll have no worry. I give you my word, I’ll return you to Coventry as soon as possible.’

      ‘I’d appreciate it. Lord Tucker depends on me.’ Her face revealed calm certainty while her consistent declaration that Tucker required her return was beginning to grate on him.

      ‘And now I do as well.’ He wanted to embrace her. Pick her up and twirl her in a circle of celebration or thread his fingers through the ribbons of her sable-soft hair. Dammit to hell, he wanted to capture her plush mouth in a kiss, taste and lick her creamy skin with the same dedicated enthusiasm Biscuit had shown the milk cart, but he couldn’t. No matter the joy that surged through his veins with her consent, he would do nothing to upset, anger or deter Georgina now she’d agreed to come to London. Too bad his imagination refused to release the images.

      Plans came together with alacrity. Securing a rented carriage and hiring a driver proved easy enough and, true to his word, he knocked on Georgina’s door the next morning. He planned to ride Snake Eyes behind the carriage, their passage interrupted only by necessity. He recalled an acceptable inn along the coaching route halfway to London. They could stay overnight while on the road and arrive in the city as promised.

      ‘Lovely morning.’ She locked the cottage behind her and stepped aside so he could manage her bags to the waiting coach. The driver hopped down from the boot and fastened her cases alongside Luke’s valise.

      ‘As are you.’ She indeed looked fashionable in a cobalt-blue travelling habit, the tailoring and fabric very fine, as well as the intricate embroidery on the collar and cuffs. One wouldn’t expect a governess to possess such a sophisticated ensemble, but he’d learned all too quickly this governess possessed discerning, expensive