Bronwyn Scott Read online

  She shot him a hard look and yanked her wrist away from the shackle of his grip. ‘Of course you won’t. In the end, you’ll always abide by the rules.’

  It was said mockingly. She was daring him and he was almost tempted to prove her wrong, that he would break those rules and take her right there. Goodness knew it was what his body wanted.

  ‘Is that what you want?’ Greer asked tersely. ‘Do you want me to take you here in this most uncouth fashion?’ He could feel the closeness between them evaporating.

  ‘What I want is for you to concentrate on tonight,’ Mercedes snapped. Just like that the termagant was back. For a few moments they’d been something more than travelling partners. The lines that defined their association had blurred ever so briefly. He was coming to recognise Mercedes was very good at such blurring, especially when it helped her get something she wanted.

  Damn her.

  It all became crystal clear: the best target is someone whose ego is greater than their skill. Give up a bit early, let them think they’ve got the upper hand, then raise the stakes and win the game. Always quit while you’re ahead. Greer blew out a breath and had the good grace to laugh. ‘Are you hustling me, Mercedes?’

  She smiled, wicked and knowing, a finger trailing lightly down his shirt front. ‘I don’t know, Greer. Tell me again, what are the rules to a good hustle?’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘There he is. That’s your mark,’ Mercedes whispered at his ear a few hours later. The quiet inn had been transformed into a noisy crowd of people. It was a Friday and wages had been paid out. Men jostled at the bar for tankards of ale and the activity was brisk around the billiards table. Even a few women were present, although none were as stunning as Mercedes.

  Tonight she wore a tight-fitted gown of deep-blue satin, trimmed in black lace and cut shockingly low, shoulders bared, the star pendant hanging from a black satin ribbon at her neck. Looking as she did, Greer was almost ready to forgive her for hustling him that afternoon. Almost.

  He kept a hand at her back, ushering her through the crowd to an empty space near the billiards table where they could watch the games. ‘Him?’ Greer nodded towards a tall man in his early thirties playing at the table. The man in question had been winning.

  Mercedes nodded, but he noticed her gaze kept moving about the room, always landing on one man in particular, a handsome auburn-haired fellow who boldly returned her attention. ‘Greer, why don’t you get me a glass of wine, if they have any?’ she said absently.

  Greer questioned the wisdom of leaving her. Every man in the room had noticed her by now, Mr Auburn-haired included. When he hesitated, she laughed up at him and he had no choice but to go in search of wine. ‘I’ll be fine. But it is sweet of you to worry.’ He was going to end up fighting someone over her tonight, he just knew it.

  By the time he had returned, hard-won glass of wine in hand, he could see his suspicions weren’t far off. The auburn-haired man had moved to her side in his absence and men hovered around Mercedes. Worst of all, that little minx was encouraging it.

  ‘Your wine, my dear.’ Greer elbowed Auburn Hair at her side with a little more force than necessary.

  She took the glass from him with a smile and a laugh. ‘There you are, I thought you’d got lost.’ Then she addressed the group around them. ‘This is Captain Barrington. He’s a fair billiards player, too, like your Jonas Bride there.’ Impressive, Greer thought. She had the name of the mark already.

  She batted her eyelashes at Auburn Hair. ‘Do you think my Captain can take him, Mr Reed?’ Her hand idly fiddled with the star charm where it lay against her bare neckline. Every man’s eyes were riveted on that bare expanse of skin, especially Mr Reed’s. Mr Reed’s eye might be a bit darker for it too.

  Mr Reed shot him a cocky glance men everywhere have understood for centuries. I can take her from you. To Mercedes he said, ‘Shall we see?’

  Mercedes reached into her cleavage and pulled out pound notes with a graceful gesture while half the room sucked in their breath. Good Lord, she was putting on a show. Even knowing that, Greer couldn’t help but feel the first stirrings of desire. Then Greer understood. The mark wasn’t Jonas Bride, not really, not unless he chose to make the man his personal mark. The real mark was Mr Reed and she’d been drawing him to her since she’d walked in the room. Find someone who likes to bet beyond their ego.

  Reed called over to Jonas Bride and a game was quickly established. Mercedes blew him a kiss, the signal to lose. Give up a bit, build the opponent’s confidence. This would be for both of them should he choose to engage Jonas Bride. It was what Mercedes was waiting for, his test for the evening. Would he personally engage in a hustle? Would he be able to win when he needed to, unlike in Bosham?

  ‘Bride, care for a wager between us?’ Greer offered, the affront to his own pride goading him into it. He’d show Mercedes he could play this as well as she could.

  * * *

  Greer lost the first game good-naturedly. Mercedes passed her pound notes to Reed and tossed her dark head. ‘Shall we go again?’ she said coyly, drawing more money from her bosom. Reed practically salivated. She blew him another kiss. And another.

  Reed was standing too close to her, staring too much by the time she gave the signal to win. Greer doubled his own wager with Mr Bride, who gladly took it, seeing it as a chance for easy money. He’d just won three straight games.

  Greer broke and won, careful to win just barely. There was no sense in making Bride look foolish. Reed bent over Mercedes’s hand and kissed it lavishly before he surrendered the funds, his eyes lingering on her breasts.

  It’s just a game, Greer reminded himself, watching money pass back and forth between them. She’s playing with Mr Reed, working him out of his money. It’s you she likes. It’s you whose ear she sucked into oblivion; it’s you who she kissed in the parlour at Bosham, really kissed. You kissed her first and she kissed you back.

  But it was hard to remember that when Reed had his hands on her, his mouth possessively close to her ear as if he had any right to Mercedes. And that cocky stare of his! He positively gloated every time he caught Greer looking at them.

  Looking at them was proving costly. Reed slid a hand along Mercedes’s leg and Greer shot a poorly aimed slice that nearly caused him to scratch. Mercedes laughed and slid a hand inside Reed’s waistcoat. Greer clenched his jaw and tried to focus on the game. He should split the pair and make the table difficult for Bride. It was what Mercedes would recommend.

  ‘Don’t miss, Captain,’ Reed called out. ‘I’d hate to have to console your lady if you lost again.’

  Greer looked up. Lucifer’s balls, Mercedes was in his lap, her mouth at Reed’s ear. That was it. No defence, no strategy. He was going to clear this table, take his winnings and his woman and get the hell out.

  Greer aimed and aimed again, the shots coming in rapid fire. He saw only the table, only the balls until he’d potted them all.

  ‘I think that might have been the fastest game ever played,’ a man breathed somewhere in the crowd. Greer didn’t care.

  ‘I’ll take my money, Bride.’

  ‘And give me no chance to win it back?’ Bride was disappointed.

  ‘No,’ Greer said tersely although he could see the answer was not popular with the crowd. Bride had lost a considerable sum. Greer stuffed the money in his pocket. ‘Mercedes, we’re leaving.’

  Mercedes shot him a disapproving look, but he was done. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch her flirt with another, especially when he didn’t know exactly where he stood with her. It was time to stake that claim.

  ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to go, Captain,’ Reed sneered, deep in his cups by now.

  ‘The lady is with me.’ Greer planted his feet shoulder width apart and flexed his hand.

  ‘Is she?’ Reed drew Mercedes to him, but she was too quick. A small blade flashed in her hand, coming up against Reed’s neck.

  ‘I am.’ Mercedes’s eyes glinted with
the thrill of the hunt.

  Reed released her. She moved backwards to his side and Greer felt a profuse sense of relief to have her with him. Ale had made Reed slow, but his sluggish brain was starting to work it all out. ‘Hey, that’s not fair. You made me believe—’

  He couldn’t complete the thought before Mercedes interrupted. ‘You’re right. I made you believe and you fell for it.’ She slipped the blade into the hidden sheath in her bodice and gave Reed a wink. ‘The last rule of a hustle is to quit while you’re ahead. Adieu.’

  Greer grimaced. He wished she hadn’t said that. Reed wasn’t drunk enough to ignore the slight, but he was drunk enough to fight. It didn’t take a genius to know who he’d be swinging at. It wasn’t going to be Mercedes.

  Reed lunged. Greer was ready for him. His arm came up, blocking the punch while his other fist found Reed’s jaw, laying him out in one staggering blow. Cries of injustice were rising. This was going to get ugly. He and Mercedes were woefully outnumbered. It was past time to get out.

  Greer shoved a bench or two in the way to slow down pursuers and pushed Mercedes ahead of him with one word of advice. ‘Run!’

  But the patrons were unfortunately bored or game or both. And they were happy to give chase. At the door he needed his fists to secure an exit and still they followed them into the streets. He had Mercedes by the hand as they ran through dark streets, winding through alleys until the mob gave up the pursuit.

  ‘Alone at last!’ Mercedes gasped, half panting, half laughing as she bent over to catch her breath. Her hair had come down and her face was flushed. Greer thought he’d never seen anything lovelier. Until he remembered. He was supposed to be angry with her.

  ‘You almost got us killed back there!’ he panted.

  ‘Beaten up, maybe.’ Mercedes laughed, dismissing his concern.

  ‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one they were going to punch.’ Greer felt his anger slipping away. It was deuced hard to stay mad at her. But he could stay mad at Reed.

  Mercedes leaned against the brick wall of a building, her breathing slowing. ‘You’re looking at me strangely.’ She raised a hand to her face. ‘Do I have dirt on my cheek? What is it?’

  ‘This.’ Greer braced his arm over her and bent his mouth to hers, adrenaline surging through them both, the kiss hard and bruising, its unspoken message was clear. ‘You are mine.’

  * * *

  This was a dangerous kiss. All of his kisses were. But that didn’t help her resist. Mercedes fell into the kiss, the thrill of the chase finding a new outlet in this physical release. They had kissed before, just as hard and just as furiously. Tonight, it wasn’t enough. In the moments of escape, she wanted more and so did Greer. Desire and adrenaline fairly rolled off his body. His hips pressed into her and she could feel the extent of his want, pulsing and hard as his mouth devoured her. Why shouldn’t they have more? Why shouldn’t they celebrate this moment? Why did it have to mean anything beyond now?

  Mercedes reached for him, finding his hard length through the fabric of his trousers. She stroked it, firm and insistent, moulding the cloth about its rigid form until she felt the tiniest bit of dampness seep through. Greer groaned, sinking his teeth into her throat, his bite an intense mix of pain and pleasure against her skin. His hand too, was not idle. He cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple into erectness beneath the satin of her gown, creating an exquisite friction against her skin. A moan escaped her, swallowed up by his mouth. He was branding her with his kisses, with his touch. She ought not to let him. She belonged to no man. And there could be no future in belonging to this one, only disappointment. But, her body chimed in, not until after great pleasure. Greer would be a matchless lover, their passion unequalled.

  Her skirts were up, the evening air cool on the heated skin of her body, her leg hitched around the lean curve of his hip, the decadence of their position fuelling their ardour. They were in a public place. Technically, anyone could come along at any time. It was a naughtily delicious thought to imagine being caught with this man. Even she had not dared so much in such a place before. Greer’s hand slipped inside her undergarments and found her cleft, stroking, teasing her into unquenchable flames, his own breathing coming ragged and fast.

  Mercedes fumbled in haste with the fastenings of his trousers. ‘Come on, get that out here to play.’ Her own voice was hoarse with want as her fingers groped for access to that most male part of him. Almost! She almost had it. That was when she heard it: the sound of horse harness and carriage wheels. They were about to be discovered by, ‘My father!’

  Mercedes tugged at her skirts, giving Greer a shove into action and pushing him away from her just as the Lockhart coach stopped in front of the alley entrance, travelling lanterns lit. A dark figure jumped nimbly down from the coach box. ‘I heard there was a little commotion at the inn and thought you might be looking for a ride.’ Her father strode forwards looking at ease.

  They did need a ride, but damn the man, he was showing up at the worst times. First at the fair, now this. How in the world was she ever going to get Greer into bed at this rate? After tonight, that was precisely where she wanted him and the consequences be hanged.

  She could feel Greer at her side, his hand warm at her back, his body emanating unsatisfied heat. ‘This is not over,’ he growled for her ears alone.

  ‘It certainly isn’t,’ Mercedes replied sotto voce. No one passed up a lover of this calibre no matter what the circumstances.

  ‘Am I interrupting anything?’ Her father grinned. ‘Celebrations, perhaps? I heard someone cleaned out a particular Mr Reed tonight and a Mr Bride. I am assuming it was you two?’ He elbowed Mercedes good-naturedly. ‘Everyone is talking about the woman in the blue dress. Good job, my dear.’

  Normally, she would have basked in his praise, but tonight her mind was too full of Greer to spend more than a passing moment on the acknowledgement. At the carriage, Greer handed her up and followed her in, her father choosing to ride up on the box with the coachman and take in the mild evening. But the damage had been done. There would be no resuming of the alleyway. The recklessness of the moment had passed, but it would come again.

  She and Greer were headed towards consummation. It was only a matter of time. Still, a foregone conclusion was not without its own delicious torture. A waiting game had been invoked tonight. When would it come? Where and how? Would it be fast and hard and decadent like the alleyway? Would it be a dilettante’s pleasure—a slow fire building towards a raging inferno by degrees? He would be capable of both.

  Mercedes studied Greer in the lantern light, the blue eyes and the strong set of his jaw. He’d fought for her tonight, kissed the living daylights out of her in an alley. Of course they were headed to bed.

  But what then? How long could she keep such a hero? Well, she wouldn’t think about that tonight. There were other more pleasant things to ponder, such as how Greer might take her. And less pleasant things, too, such as how she was going to convince her father to let her play. They were nearing Bath where her father wanted to make a considerable stand and she was no closer to earning his public approval than she had been before they left Brighton.

  Greer reached below the seat and pulled out the blankets kept there. He handed her one with a smile. ‘Go to sleep, Lady in Blue.’

  She took the blanket. ‘You were jealous tonight.’

  Greer nodded, not shying away from the truth. ‘I was. I didn’t like seeing Reed’s hands all over you.’

  Mercedes smiled softly as she spread out her blanket. ‘Well, try not to punch anyone else. I’d hate for you to ruin your hands before the tournament. It is just a game, Greer.’ She settled her head against the cushioned walls of the carriage.

  ‘My shoulder might be more comfortable,’ came Greer’s low tones. He didn’t wait for a response. Perhaps he sensed forcing a direct answer from her would be too much of a commitment.

  Greer slid over to her seat and wrapped an arm about her, drawing her close. She co
uld smell the sandalwood of his soap mingled with the sweat of the evening and clean linen, a comforting, masculine smell of a man who knew how to take care of himself and of others. She was used to hard kisses and fast-spent passions in her associations with men. She was not used to this: the sense of being protected and cherished. She’d not been prepared for the Captain to turn out to be a man who was strong and passionate with a capacity for tenderness. Before she drifted off to sleep she thought she heard the whispered words, ‘You’re not a game, Mercedes, not to me.’ Her heart cried out one last futile warning. Here was a man who could ruin her.

  * * *

  Here was a woman who could ruin him. Greer stayed awake long after Mercedes had fallen asleep against him. In the moonlight and lanterns she looked harmless enough, a peaceful sleeping beauty to the unsuspecting connoisseur. But he knew better, far better than she knew. He was living on borrowed time and every mile they drew closer to Bath, more sand drained from the hour glass.

  Bath would be full of people, his kind of people—barons and viscounts who were there before moving on to London or back to their estates for summer. It was unlikely he’d escape detection. There’d be someone there who would know his brother or his father and word would get home. When that happened, there’d be hell to pay.

  It wasn’t just his father’s disapproval he was risking—he’d risked that often enough in the past. His father’s disapproval was a private matter kept in the family. There would be no hiding this. Society would know what he’d done and that would bring shame to the entire family. He, a captain in the military, second son of a viscount, had taken up with a billiards hustler and his daughter. Never mind that Lockhart was a celebrity. Playing billiards for a living was patently unacceptable. Flaunting Mercedes in the face of decent society was a direct slap in the face to all the eligible young girls looking for husbands. Mercedes could be his mistress and be kept discreetly out of sight, but nothing more. To be seen with her publicly at the gatherings of ‘decent folk’ was inappropriate.