The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant

met his eyes and he looked intense, the dove-grey depth of his irises darker than before. ‘I prefer Coventry. That’s all I meant to imply.’ She needed to collect her thoughts before she lost control of her tongue. Thank heavens he’d never noticed she wore only a chemise and short stays. What kind of woman would he think her to be? A proper governess would keep her chastity secure.

      ‘London is only two days’ ride. You could accompany me there and be returned within a week. Of course, I would pay all expenses. I could rent a carriage for you and then, after you speak to Viscount Dursley on my behalf, you’d be free to visit with anyone you know in the city before returning to Coventry. All without cost to you. Just an investment of time. Why, I’ll even take you to The Underworld if you prefer an adventure.’ He paused before further presenting his plea. ‘I realize you have responsibilities here and earn your living in Coventry. I would generously reimburse you for any wages lost due to my imposition.’ He paused, his eyes narrowed as if unsure to continue or perhaps deliberating his next words with care. ‘I need your help.’

      His admission tempted for all the right reasons and set her heartbeat into an anxious gallop for all the wrong ones. She’d like to assist him. She cared about Nate and his welfare, but she could not return to London. How could she help him understand without appearing selfish, or worse, hardhearted? Luke had known so much sorrow in his life. Her stomach twisted with the struggle of her decision. Why was it her life became increasingly more complicated at every turn? Any logical governess would not turn down the promise of wages. She had no need for the money, but the person she presented to the world would eagerly wish for the funds.

      She dabbed a bit of honey across the wound, her cheeks hot with the intimate gesture, quick to cover the wound with clean bandages and secure the gauzy cotton bandage. She watched as he unfolded his shirtsleeve, covering all that hard, smooth flesh, much to her regret.

      ‘Thank you.’ He inhaled deeply as he fastened his cuff. ‘I smell apricots.’ His eyes scanned the baskets on the kitchen counter. ‘You smell like apricots.’

      Her face warmed further as she confessed. ‘It’s my soap, French-milled. An indulgent luxury here in the country.’ Despite her best efforts, conversation with Luke prompted her to reveal more than she would ordinarily. Just like Biscuit’s insult, she had the unnerving feeling her words would come back to bite her.

      ‘An indulgence indeed.’ His tease fed on her hidden fear, that he’d fast realize a provincial governess would not have the funds or the means to special order French-milled soap. She needed to change the subject. ‘You might appeal to the law. Will a court not listen to your complaint against Viscount Dursley? Perhaps an investigator or hired man could assist in the search.’

Chapter Five

      Again, Luke was filled with the desire to grasp Georgina’s shoulders and shake her into compliance. He needed her to travel to London. He needed to touch her. Perhaps grabbing her shoulders would lead to no good, a kiss more than coercion. Or a kiss as a form of coercion.

      Sitting at her kitchen table while she ministered to his wound, her nimble fingers gentle with each purposeful caress, caused an empty well to fill within his soul. There was no other way to explain it. And, too, he still hadn’t forgotten the press of her lush breasts against his body, the sweet fragrance of apricots. A modest governess who indulged in imported soap? Did she favour silk underthings too?

      Her neckline revealed a tempting half circle of creamy flesh flushed to a rosy glow by the unlikely events leading to his place in her kitchen, but he had no trouble envisioning what lay beneath. Full, luscious breasts, their silky tips dusky and hard as he teased the tender peaks and nipped her delicious skin. The promise of one taste of her breasts would cause a man to sell his soul to the Devil. He adjusted his position on the chair just as she turned to put away the honey… oh, and the honey. Damn if he couldn’t think of a hundred uses for that. Damn if Georgina wasn’t the most beddable governess he’d ever imagined. If he needed to resort to seduction…

      He banished his lustful fantasies, pushing them aside for what remained most important. He needed to find Nathaniel. Still, after decades on the street and involvement at the hell, caution never proved his strong suit. ‘Your suggestions are well meant but will prove of no use. I’ve exhausted every resource at my disposal. The most powerful weapon is a credible and impartial stranger to support my claim. That’s why you need to come to London.’

      ‘I don’t even know you.’ Her words were cautious at best.

      ‘But you know my problem.’ Nathaniel. I’m so sorry, Nate. ‘I must find my son and you’re the only person who can help.’

      ‘I’ll think about it.’

      She came to sit at the table, a personal portrait of simple country living. Two adults discussing their plans for the immediate future. How different life proceeded away from the city. It reminded of a time long ago when he first learned he would be a father, the grave parallel of the two scenes uncanny.

      ‘I hope so. I need your help.’ He winced as he moved his arm on the table. He wasn’t above evoking a bit of guilt if it accomplished his goal, though the words didn’t come easily. ‘With your testimony, it would be difficult for a magistrate to ignore my claim.’ In truth, he wondered if that hypothesis held true, but faced with no other leads, it offered a promising path to pursue. Mayhap he could confront Dursley with Georgina at his side, although he would never wish to do anything to upset her or place the governess in harm’s way. She deserved better. Scandal wouldn’t reach her out here hidden in the countryside, but that didn’t mean he would exploit her generosity were she to decide to help. And he would convince her.

      He would make true his invitation to show her The Underworld. Introduce her to Cole and Sinclair. A stroke of pride squared his shoulders as he viewed her now. She remained quiet so he turned the conversation in an attempt to learn more about her. ‘Do you enjoy working as a governess? I’ll confess I was never one for schooling.’ At least not the kind involving books.

      ‘I do.’ Her mouth lifted in a pleasant smile. ‘What is it you do at this gaming hell?’

      ‘Whatever needs to be done. Numbers, business, money, it all runs together. I manage operations within the establishment with two partners. It’s a popular distraction for the ton.’ His voice rang with confidence and rightly so.

      ‘That sounds dangerous, although I admit I’m intrigued.’ Her eyes were bright, as clear and blue as a summer sky. ‘Where is it located?’

      ‘Eleven Bond Street, West End.’

      ‘Near St James Square then?’

      Click.

      The conversation had become casual and surely Georgina didn’t realize her mistake. No country governess would know the landmark locations of London streets without an intimate knowledge of the city. The lovely lady hid something, most definitely.

      ‘Yes.’ He wouldn’t elaborate or point out her error, not wishing to destroy the fragile trust. ‘I would be happy to escort you there were you to come to London. It’s not a place women are allowed to frequent and would present a rare opportunity for someone interested in learning new things.’

      She hemmed her bottom lip and he couldn’t help but focus on the erotic habit. He’d never kissed a governess. Better sense intruded to poke holes in his logic and remind the latter part of that sentence could be completed a plethora of ways. He’d never kissed a fishmonger, never kissed a debutante or duchess or dowager, but he wouldn’t waste time with the mental game. A more enticing proposition took root. Would a kiss convince her to make the two-day journey? Hell and the devil, he’d known his kisses to convince women to do a lot more than that.

      He inhaled again, savouring her light, fresh fragrance, and leaned entirely too close to her person. So close, their breath mingled. He noticed her eyes darted to his mouth and then up again. For a tiny, breathless moment, he thought she might say something, but she remained