The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant
‘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.’
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.’
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